#Human Development Index | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dailynnt · 6 months ago

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FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 18/30

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻From the author: ✊🏻✊🏻 Knock, knock… it's me again with my new chapter. I want to assure you right away that I'm not obsessed with sex in the car (after all, this is the third scene where they have sex in the car), it's just that this scene appeared in my head so suddenly, and they were in the car at that time... 🤭😁 Anyway, let me know if you liked this? And also, do you like the plot development?

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and love you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad , @kelsyx33 (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 18. Dangerous.

Your eyes are closed, and there are thousands of thoughts in your head. All of them create chaos in your head and you can't understand what is important to think about now and what is not worth attention. This causes anxiety. You should be happy because you finally have a relationship. You have a loved one who is supposed to make you happy. Of course, you are sure that he will make you, but what is happening in your life right now makes you feel like you are in limbo.

Jungkook is your best friend who is now your boyfriend. He belongs to the mafia and does a pretty dangerous job. You imagine, just for a second, what he does and what he looks like, and you feel horror crawling through your body. You feel discomfort mixed with anxiety and open your eyes.

The Mercedes drives smoothly, but with its characteristic engine growl. The interior is warm and smells like unobtrusive citrus. Jungkook is watching the road, holding the steering wheel with one hand.

You look sideways at his profile without turning your head. His perfect face seems to be getting beautifully to you every day. You literally can't stop admiring him.

Jungkook looked calm, almost detached, focused on the road. His sharp features seemed to be carved by God himself: a strong jawline, a straight nose, perfect symmetry of his eyebrows, which moved slightly as he thought about something. His lips, slightly pursed but soft, beckoned to be touched and tasted.

His hand gripped the steering wheel. The tattoos were eye-catching. You looked at his long fingers and imagined them holding a gun. His index finger pulled the trigger and a shot rang out. Someone had died by his hand.

You shook your head slightly to clear away the horrific image you were sure had never happened. Jungkook would never kill a human. But you are saddened by the thought that you doubt. You can't say that you believe that Jungkook is not a murderer. But how can this gentle, caring person take someone's life? You are confused and completely disoriented. You just don't know what to believe.

Why are you thinking about all this while driving in the car? You know about the situation with the devices that Doohoon stole. You have a vague idea of what awaits Jungkook when you arrive in Seoul and he meets Namjoon. You're scared and nervous about revealing this to Jungkook so that he doesn't worry about you. Will Namjoon be really angry? Will he punish him in some mafia-style way or just tell you that another $50 million is added to the blog and let Jungkook go? What a lot of money!

Although everything is perfect between you and Jungkook right now, you can't keep thinking about who he really is. Knowing criminal world, the life will seem to you like a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later it will explode. However, your feelings for Jungkook are growing every day, and you think about how you can save him. What can you do to make him leave the mafia and finally live like a normal person?

You pick up your new phone and look at the time. It's eleven in the morning. It's only a thirty-minute drive to Seoul.

Jungkook notices that you are awake and looks over at you. A smile touches his lips and he reaches out to you. He places his hand on your thigh and squeezes it lightly.

"Did you doze off?" - He asks. His voice is hoarse and gentle at the same time. Your eyes instantly find his and you smile back. In fact, you were awake. You were trying to sort out the chaos in your head. But all you got were not clear thoughts but a headache.

"A little." - You lie. "I lost my sleep rhythm. It was hard for me to wake up at 7 a.m. to get ready for the trip." - You admit.

"How much sleep did you get?" - Jungkook asks looking ahead.

"Three hours." - You say. Jungkook's eyebrows fly up.

"Baby, you need to get more sleep. I'll take you home and you can go straight to bed." - Jungkook is worried. You struggle to smile.

"Okay." - You agree. After a moment, you speak again. "Your mom must have been sad that you had to leave in the morning, right? It would have been better if you hadn't stopped by your parents' house at all." - You say in a sad, slightly guilty voice. Jungkook could have stayed with his parents longer, but he spent a lot of time with you yesterday. And this morning he left because he had to meet Namjoon.

Jungkook heard what you said and laughed softly. He stroked your thigh as if to calm you down.

"That's what my mom said when I told my parents I was just passing through. I told my mother I was on business near Suwon so I came to see them because I was miss, even though I had important business in Seoul since morning. My mother was touched that I wasted time to coming to they and instantly melted." - Jungkook told you. You raised your eyebrows, unhappy that Jungkook was manipulating his mother's feelings with a lie.

"You lie to your mother and think it's okay?" - You asked, irritated. Jungkook gave you a quick glance and the smile disappeared from his lips.

"I wasn't lying. It was almost like that." - Jungkook defended himself. "If I had told her that I had come for a couple of days but had to leave in the morning, she would have been upset. Besides, I promised her I would come back after the new year."

"You've been lying a lot lately." - You complained, even though you knew Jungkook was right. The fact that he lied made sense. But he was really lying a lot, and you were nervous about it. He's the one who can lie to you easily!

"Only the last four years." - Jungkook says ironically, meaning that it started when he met Namjoon. You snort in displeasure.

"More. About six years." - You say. Jungkook raises his eyebrows, wondering why it took so long. He looks at you questioningly, and you stretch your lips into a luscious smile. "You wanted me all along and lied about me not being your type." - You explain. Jungkook smiles again, the smile of a man who has been exposed.

"Is it my fault that you didn't reciprocate for so long?" - Jungkook asks you. You're shocked. Meaning you didn't respond? Did he show any interest in you? He just liked to tease you and make you blush. He's been with a lot of girls, even though he says he's liked you since high school.

"Reciprocated on what? You never even hit on me like a normal guy." - Jungkook bursts out laughing.

"I'm sorry. I did it the best I could." - He says through his laughter.

"No. You didn’t do all the best that you could. You were just a playboy. Who thought, that his best friend wasn't going anywhere anyway." - You said it a little harshly. Jungkook didn't stop smiling, but he raised his eyebrows. It sounded like an accusation.

"Do you know me that well, baby?" - Jungkook jokes, trying to calm you down. Because he can already see you're getting annoyed.

"Yes. I know you very well. I just don't know why it took you so long to ask me out. Did you want to be free longer?" - You ask sharply, trying to be calm.

"I was in a relationship before you, so the 'free' theory isn't true, baby. I dated Minsoo at school for a year, and I dated Jayon for about a year too. And I dated Ha Young for a long time. But when I started working for Namjoon, it became difficult to have a girlfriend. I wasn't a playboy." - Jungkook explains indignantly. The mention of Jungkook's exes makes you even more irritated. You give him an angry look.

"You were!" - You growl. "Do you want me to recall all your passions that wrote to me to stay away from you? For some reason, your last one isn't there, although I'm sure she wanted to threaten me too. That's probably why you stopped talking to me during your first year at university." - Jungkook exhaled nervously. You were angry about this. You sat up straight and crossed your arms over your chest. Jungkook rubbed his palms on the steering wheel.

"Okay, if you think I'm a playboy, so be it. But what are we arguing about? You accuse me of not courted you well, but you've never even flirted with me as a joke. All I ever heard you say was, ‘I'm going to kill you, Jeon.’" - Jungkook imitated you. You choked on your anger and indignation.

"Did I have to do that? I thought you were my friend, and I didn't think it was necessary. But you were flirting with everyone, you didn't miss a skirt. And it spread to me too because I have boobs. That's why I didn't react." - You snapped back.

"You liked me, you could have reciprocated." - Jungkook says lightly.

"No, I didn't. I didn't like you!" - You shouted. Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Jungkook gave you a look full incredulous. "I only started to like you when we started living together." - You lied.

"Are you answering for your words?" - Jungkook asks you in a serious tone. You can hear your heart beating desperately against your ribcage, and you delay your answer for a long few seconds.

"Yes. I'm telling you the truth." - You say with determination, but you're afraid you don't sound confident. "If I would like you, how I was okay with you fucking every girl in town?" - The muscles in his jaw are pulsing. He's irritated. He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and you never miss this gesture.

"You've dreamed of being in those girls' shoes, and don't tell me you haven't, baby." - Jungkook says slyly. Although you expected a more angry reaction, judging by the look on his face.

"Never. You're the one who must have wanted me to be in their shoes, because you've been wanting to fuck me for so long." - You reply defiantly. Jungkook snorts. You approach him, leaning over the armrest. You can clearly see the shine of his perfect skin. "You should have just confess to me instead of sticking your dick in everyone's." - You smile. Jungkook pulls off the road and parks on the side of the road. You fall back on the seat. You stare dumbfounded at the road, trying to understand why Jungkook stopped. Before you can say anything, you feel Jungkook's hand squeezing your cheeks. His face is just a few centimeters away and his eyes radiate something devilish.

"Your big mouth is too big sometimes. I can put my cock in your mouth. That you'd stop saying stupid things." - Jungkook says thoughtfully. He looks at you with authority. You feel a piercing sensation between your thighs, and you think you just wet your panties.

"Try your luck, Jeon." - You say through clenched cheeks. You feel Jungkook's fingernails digging into your skin. Jungkook laughs, but it's a laugh that sounds like something between mocking and maniacal.

"Why do you like provoking me so much? Do you get off on me being rude to you?" - Jungkook asks, and you feel him already undoing the button on your jeans. You get wet in anticipation of Jungkook's fingers on your pussy. He's right that you like his roughness and power. But you can't admit it. Of course you love it when he's gentle and caring, but those eyes, those eyes in front of you, they set your whole being on fire.

"Don't even touch me!" - You scream when you feel his hand slowly slide down your pants. Jungkook's eyes darken even more when you don't let him. His cock instantly hardens. Jungkook captures your lips and his fingers are already touching your folds. You grab his hand, but your strength is not enough, because you can't resist your desire to have him touch you.

Jungkook terrorizes your lips, his tongue literally fills your entire mouth. You return the kiss with the same passion. He caresses your clit and you can't help but moan into Jungkook's mouth.

"Take off your pants quickly and get on my lap." - Jungkook orders you. You are flushed from his kiss and touch. Jungkook pushes his seat back as far as it will go. He notices that you are sitting still. You don't listen to him right away, and he gets mad. "Baby, don't try my patience. Otherwise I will punish you severely." - Jungkook asks you. Although it sounds like a pure threat. You smile slyly. You wonder how he can punish you severely?

"Make me, Jeon. I wasn't planning on sitting on your such promiscuous cock tonight." - You say as if you're testing Jungkook's patience. He's horny and eager to get satisfaction, and you won't bite your cheeky tongue. Jungkook slowly approaches you. He doesn't touch you, he just moves a short distance away. You unconsciously squeeze into the seat.

"You have half a minute to take off your clothes and climb on my lap. Otherwise I'll climb on top of you and you'll choke on my cock. Choose, baby." - He says gently. You look at him and realize that you are too excited. The wetness between your legs and the aching more screaming at you to listen to Jungkook and do as he says. Without looking away from your boyfriend's black eyes, you take off your jeans. Jungkook leaned back a little and smiled victoriously, one corner of his lips quirking up. "What a good girl." - He says and returns to his seat. Jungkook lifts his hips and pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers. He lowers them to his knees so they don't get in the way.

You see Jungkook's erect cock, eager for attention. The thick vein that runs along its length attracts your attention and you want to feel it with your tongue.

You quickly get rid of your jeans and thong. You don't take off your turtleneck, thinking that you don't need to undress completely for a quick fuck.

Jungkook is waiting for you. He pumps his cock several times, smearing his pre-cum. When you climb onto his lap, he smiles evilly. You don't even expect the punishment you're going to get for your long tongue.

You press your pussy against his aroused cock and bite your lip. Jungkook grabs your hips and lifts you up to enter you right away. He won't stretch you this time. You have to be punished today.

You will feel the head of his cock running over your clit. Jungkook uses it to rub your wetness. When he presses his cock against your entrance, you sigh with anticipation. He plunges into you and you think he's going to go slowly, but his hands on your hips jerk you around and he enters you abruptly. A cry of pain escapes your mouth. Jungkook admires you, his lips curved in a cocky smile. Your eyes are closed, your eyebrows are drawn together, and your mouth is open. This expression could easily pass for pleasure, but your face is pure pain.

"You didn't think I'd be gentle, did you? As I remember, you like me to be rough." - Jungkook says with difficulty. His voice is low and husky. He's trying to withstand the way your tight pussy is squeezing his cock.

"It hurts..." - You whimper. Jungkook squeezes your thighs with his fingers and gives a deep thrust. You scream again, but less painfully. Now it's more pleasant than painful.

"You're being punished, not having lovemaking." - Jungkook tells you. You open your eyes and see his face radiating lust and anger at the same time.

"Why are you punishing me? For I telling that you fucked everyone?" - You say slyly. Jungkook looks at you defiantly and slams his hips into you again, plunging his cock into you as much as possible. It's as if he's knocking all the air out of you when he does this. You forget how to breathe when he starts fucking you intensely. You moan in pleasure, moving your hips to meet Jungkook's.

"You need to be punished for running your mouth. What business is it of yours how many I've fucked?" - Jungkook asks, breathing heavily.

"Business?" - You gasp. "It’s my business, because you could have fucked me a long time ago instead of all those whores." - You say indignantly. You talk as if you're not sitting naked on Jungkook in the car right now, filled to the brim with his cock.

"I'm fucking you right now, and I started doing it when we were friends. Aren't you also my slut too?" - Jungkook asks, smiling. You moan as you bounce on him. Are you his whore? Only he and you can't be compared to them.

"No. I'm not..." - You want to tell him not to put you on the same level as those girls. But his cock pounding into you, making you feel incredible, silences you.

"Oh, yeah. Just look at you. You're sitting on my cock and you can't get enough. You love it when I'm rough with you, like a real whore." - Jungkook's voice is hot. Your head is spinning.

Jungkook catches a glimpse of your erect nipples, visible through your black turtleneck. He takes one hand off your hip to free your breasts from your clothes. Your tits fall out and move in time with your movements.

Jungkook doesn't like the way your clothes are in the way. He stops you and takes off the last thing you're wearing, over your head. He throws the turtleneck elsewhere and pounces on your attractive nipples.

Jungkook grabs one in his hand, kisses it gently at first, then swirls his tongue around it several times. He suddenly sucks on the nipple so hard that almost tears barely appear in your eyes. You hiss, just sitting on his cock. Your pussy is throbbing and you wouldn't mind if Jungkook paid attention to your clit. He sucks on your nipples, and it hurts a lot more than all the other times.

"Does it hurt?" - Jungkook asks, pulling away from your breast. You bite your lip so hard that it hurts too. You nod that it hurts, but that's not the right answer. Jungkook smiles with satisfaction. Your punishment continues as he begins to pound you with his hips again, ruthlessly pushing his cock into you. You are as close together as possible, so you can feel his pubic bone with your clit.

Your knees are getting tired of holding onto the narrow seat on the sides of Jungkook's thighs. But Jungkook doesn't care.

He looks down at your pussy and thinks that you must be finally punished. You continue to ride Jungkook's cock and suddenly you feel a blow to your pussy. It doesn't hurt too much. But fuck, it's so unusual. You stop and watch Jungkook's cruel smile in puzzlement.

"This pussy is responsible for your long tongue. You can apologize to her for your impudence." - Jungkook says sweetly. You want to protest, but another stroke silences you, almost choking. Jungkook touches your clit, just as you wanted him to, and he massages it, making you feel euphoric. But when he pinches your clit, you scream. And Jungkook giggles in amusement. You squeeze his shoulder with all your strength, and if he wasn't wearing a sweatshirt, you would have scratched him.

"But you were right, baby. When I was fucking all those girls, I was imagining you." - Jungkook confesses. His voice is still brutal with no hint of sweetness. "Because all I ever wanted was you. You're my cherished dream come true." - You open your eyes and finally see his loving smile. You feel like everything inside you is on fire. He lights you up with a fire that spreads throughout your body. Your soul trembles at his words, as do you. You lean into him and kiss him, putting all your feelings into this kiss. Jungkook responds. Your lips tell each other that you are in love.

Jungkook squeezes your buttocks as he moves you around on his lap. You lean on the seat with one hand to keep your balance. You speed up your movements. You feel Jungkook's cock grinding against your walls. He touches your G-spot, building up your orgasm. A wave of pleasant pleasure slowly covers you. One moment and the knot in the bottom of your stomach breaks, engulfing your body in blissful pleasure.

You moan into Jungkook's ear and he can't get enough of the sound. He keeps fucking you so he can come himself. He hardens to the maximum and lifts your juicy hips to get out of you. You get up and instantly fall back on his lap. His hot cum paints your pussy and his stomach. You watch his cock twitch, spewing white liquid. When it softens, you finally look up at Jungkook. You see him smiling with satisfaction. You reflexively lift your lips in a smile.

"You didn't come in me, so that's a big success." - You joke. Jungkook grabs your neck and pulls you gently.

"Is that mouth ever going to stop being so big?" - He asks before kissing you one last time. You taste your boyfriend's lips and can't get enough.

"Never. I was given to you so that you would never relax in your life." - You answer, pulling away from Jungkook's lips. Jungkook laughs and you get off his lap. You have to clean yourself up. Before you can make it home.

Jungkook dropped you off at house. He wanted to help you carry your things upstairs, but you assured him that you could do it yourself. You argued for a long few minutes and you convinced him. He kissed you goodbye and left for the main office of «Mono Corp».

Jungkook was almost calm. He could have been nervous. After all, Namjoon had found out about everything. But Jungkook had everything under control. He was in Japan those days while you were away, and he was able to return all the devices. And they in Korea by now. Hayato texted he last night and told him that he and the devices were in the port of Busan.

Jungkook parks the Mercedes and goes up to the top floor of the building. He doesn't meet any of his friends on the way and it's a little strange. Where did they all go? He approaches Namjoon's office and greets the secretary. The woman nods and invites him inside. Jungkook crosses the threshold and finds himself in the sacred place for the boss of an influential mafia clan.

He felt heavy, like a mountain pressing down on his chest. This happens every time he finds himself in this place.

Namjoon's office wasn't just a workspace - it was a zone of authority that Jungkook hated and respected at the same time.

Dark wood on the walls, a large panoramic window overlooking the masterpiece lights of Seoul. A huge ebony desk with papers and documents on it reflected the very essence of this place: everything is under control. Namjoon was sitting at the desk, leaning slightly forward, focused, but his expression was not stern. There was an invisible warmth in him, but it was all deliberate.

"Jungkook." - He said quietly, without the usual pressure and threats that accompanied normal meetings in the mafia world. "Have a seat." - He pointed to the couch, which was located away from the table.

"Hello." - Jungkook greeted, bowing him and sat down on the designated seat. Namjoon put some papers aside. He ordered coffee from his secretary for the two of them and stood up from the table.

Jungkook didn't look at Namjoon, but he knew exactly what he was doing. The sound of his expensive shoes broke the silence. Namjoon sat down across from Jungkook and stared at his subordinate.

Jungkook looked up at the leader and stared intently at his expression.

"What's up, kid?" - Namjoon asked with an uncharacteristic warmth in his voice. Jungkook pressed his lips together, showing off his mole under his lower lip.

"All is right." - Jungkook didn't lie. Namjoon lazily turned his head to the side, his gaze remaining calm but studying. His whole appearance was like a challenge, but not aggressive. It was an intellectual strength, a strength that didn't need to be brutal. He looked at Jungkook, and his eyes reflected a patience that could end at any time.

"Why did you hide everything from me?" - Namjoon asks. Jungkook knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Jimin had nothing to do with it. It's completely my fault. So please don't punish him." - Jungkook says at first. This brings a faint smile to Namjoon's lips. He's always so noble.

"Jimin knows me well, he should have foreseen that I would find out about your affairs anyway." - Namjoon said more coldly, showing that Jimin would not escape punishment for covering up for Jungkook. "It's so funny, kid, that you thought I wouldn't know that 50 million dollars disappeared from under my nose." - Namjoon let out a shrill laugh. The laughter echoed in Jungkook's ears like an intrusive fly.

"I didn't think you wouldn't find out, I just wanted to solve it on my own. Without bothering you." - Jungkook said in his defense.

"Solved it?" - Namjoon asked mockingly, raising his eyebrows. Jungkook wanted to answer, but the secretary came into the office with two cups of espresso. She silently put the coffee tray down, clearly sensing the tension around, and left as quickly as she could. Namjoon took the white, small cup with the black drink and took a sip. The aroma of coffee teased Jungkook's receptors. But he didn't want to drink coffee right now.

"Yes." - Jungkook replied, more firmly than he wanted to. Namjoon tasted the coffee and nodded his head.

"I like how you decided. You took almost a month to find out where the devices were. Beat that asshole to a pulp in front of our Japanese partner. And because of you, I wasted 10 minutes of my life listening to his father complain and demand compensation from me for some reason." - Namjoon said. He put the cup of coffee on the table and adjusted his expensive Rolexes.

"I'll explain..." - Jungkook said. He regretted answering so quickly. How could he explain if everything was tied to you?

"What exactly do you want to explain?" - Namjoon clarified. "Why did Doohoon, as soon as he got to Korea, immediately start make trouble to you? Or why did you beat him up and leave his blood all over the hallway? Or how did you manage to lose my 50 million dollars so easily?" - Jungkook exhaled a long breath. There were no answers to these questions, specifically for Namjoon.

"I returned the devices." - Jungkook said, carefully avoiding the topic of Doohoon.

"So what? I don't want them, I want the money." - Namjoon says dryly, and now Jungkook hears the tone he's become accustomed to.

"I'll sell them personally, I already have a new client." - Jungkook says.

"Are you sure, that I have to give you another chance?" - Namjoon asks a rhetorical question. Jungkook looks him in the eye, not afraid of his boss for a second, even though he should be.

"I'll sell them for 100 million." - Jungkook replies, and a spark lights up in Namjoon's eyes.

"100 million." - Namjoon repeats. He is silent for a second and then answers. "Don't let me down, kid. If you don't sell it for 100 million, you know This amount will be added to your debt." - He says, and it's no surprise to Jungkook. It was expected.

"I won't let you down." - Jungkook says. Namjoon finally smiles. It seems that the sum of 100 million dollars has lifted Namjoon's spirits quite a bit. He is relaxing, his posture shows it, and Jungkook is also relieved.

"But the question of Doohoon is still open." - The clan leader speaks up about him.

"I will deal with him as well. Please give me some time." - Jungkook asks. Namjoon stares at him again with a long, piercing gaze.

"Go ahead. But really deal with this brat, because I have enough problems from his father. I have more important things to do." - Namjoon says and finishes his espresso.

"I'll take care of it." - Jungkook promises. Namjoon nods in acknowledgment.

"Why does that guy Doohoon hate you so much? I remember he didn't like you in high school or something." - Namjoon says. Jungkook doesn't want to talk about this topic at all. So he keeps his mouth shut. "But thanks to him, you work for me." - The clan leader suddenly says, and Jungkook looks up at him.

"I'm only working off my debt, no more. Since Doohoon is back in Korea, you could demand your money from him. He's the one who owes you." - Jungkook says a little sharply. Namjoon's face radiates disappointment. He doesn't like the way Jungkook is talking. He would rather have Jungkook work for him voluntarily. He sees Jungkook's essence, and this job he's doing is perfect for him.

"You'll work off his debt because you're just as involved in this." - Namjoon says coldly.

"I didn't turn you in to the police, and I told you that many times. I'm not the reason you lost the money." - Jungkook defends himself.

"I don't care. Whether you were involved or not, the two of you brought him to my club." - Namjoon cuts him off, referring to the police officer's son. Jungkook stops talking and decides that the conversation is over. He gets up from the couch.

"I have to go. I have things to do." - Jungkook bows and is about to leave when Namjoon's words make him freeze in horror.

"So you two became enemies because of your girl friend?" - Namjoon asks. He said he knew everything, didn't he? Jungkook turns and glares at Namjoon. "She's really pretty, I understand why there's a war. How long have you two been living together? Jimin says she has a temper." - He pauses, enjoying Jungkook's look, and continues. "But kid, lets you make sure that your girlfriend doesn't affect my company's income. Really handle everything yourself, so I don't have to interfere personally."

Jungkook has left and you are standing on the street. There is even more snow in Seoul than in Suwon, but all the roads are well plowed. Your hands are freezing from the slight frost, and so you want to get inside as soon as possible.

To get into the building, you have to cross the parking lot, because that's where Jungkook dropped you off. You wrap your jacket tighter because there is a terrible draft in the yard and grab the handle of your suitcase. You walk away thinking about a hot bath. You don't notice the gray Volvo parked in the parking lot, not far from the high-rise building. When you pass by and hear the horn honking, you jump in surprise.

You want to scold the person who honked the horn, but you drop your suitcase, which falls on the snow compacted by cars. Doohoon stands with his car door open and smiles at you with difficulty. He can't do it normally because his face is so beaten up.

His right eyebrow is cut, and it looks like there might even be stitches because he has a large bandage on it. His lip is split in two places. There are severe bruises under both eyes, purple and burgundy in color, which suggests that they are slowly coming off. Doohoon's appearance is horrifying. Only brown eyes, the color of the whiskey, remain of his handsome face.

"Hello, candy." - He greets you, and you just want to run. You instantly remember everything you've been told Jungkook about Doohoon and you want to made him another bruise. You come to your senses. You pick up your suitcase and walk as fast as you can without saying hello to Doohoon. He catches up with you, grabbing your arm. You pull your hand away.

"Don't touch me!" - You shout. Doohoon presses his lips into a line and almost immediately grimaces in pain. His acting is Oscar-worthy.

"Let's talk, candy..." - Doohoon asks you. You feel a kind of growing anxiety. With Doohoon, you felt this all the time.

"We have nothing to talk about with you. Just like all the times before." - You say angrily.

"You came together and you return to his apartment. I can see that my words about Jungkook didn't impress you at all, although you had a slightly different reaction at the party." - Doohoon says. You pierce him with a look worth a hundred knife cuts.

"What's your business with me and my reaction? Stop following me." - You ask. Doohoon smiles, restrained and almost sweet.

"Do you remember what I said to you that night?" - Doohoon asks, but you don't answer. "I told you that I like you. That's why I can't stand aside while Jungkook is with you. It's not stalking, it's caring." - You raise your eyebrows and get even angrier.

"I don't need your concern. I don't like you for the life of me. And your behavior scares me." - You confess. Doohoon laughs heartily.

"Scares you?" - He repeats mockingly. "Does my caring scare you more than Jungkook whose hands are up to their elbows in blood?" - You freeze with a shadow of fear on your face.

"He didn't kill anyone..." - You say quietly, not believing yourself.

"Candy." - Doohoon calls you gently. "He did. You're a smart girl, you should know that people connected to the mafia are not saints. If you knew what he was doing, you'd change your mind." - You stare at each other for a while. You don't know what to say in defense of Jungkook. But Doohoon is wrong. Jungkook is still a very good person who has been trapped. And it's all thanks to Doohoon.

"Whose fault is that?" - You ask. "It's your fault that Jungkook is working for Namjoon." - Your voice is laced with venom. Doohoon takes a step toward you and you can hear your heart pounding, but you remain unmoved.

"Maybe so. But I'm not the one who pulls the trigger on a gun and beats people to death." - Doohoon says looking down at you. You look bravely into his cold eyes. "He is dangerous to you and you realize it. One day you might get hurt because of Jungkook." - Doohoon reaches out and touches your cheek. "That's why I'm here, to save you." - You're not impressed by his words. You knock his hand away.

"Who gave you permission to touch me?" - You ask harshly. "Get off me. Leave me and Jungkook alone. I don't need your concern because I know who you really are." - You jab your finger at Doohoon's chest. "You envious piece of shit." - Doohoon laughs. His anger has been growing as fast as a fire burning through dry grass. Your stance of resistance only strengthened his desire to possess you. Are you deliberately making him obsessed with you?

You walk away and Doohoon doesn't stop you. He looks at you and thinks you just signed your own warrant. He was trying to persuade you to distance yourself from Jungkook in a nice way. It looks like he need to move on to more effective ways.

You disappear from Doohoon's sight and he walks back to the car. Once behind the wheel, he dials the number he needs. Several long beeps reach his ear.

"Hello?" - Doohoon hears on the other end of the phone.

"I need to hire some guys. Remember when we talked about this?" - Doohoon asks. He starts the car and hears the sound of the engine.

"Kidnapp some girl?"

"Yeah. Find those guys who have a beef with Jungkook. I'll come to you right away and we'll talk about it in detail." - Doohoon doesn't wait for an answer and turns off the phone. His Samsung flies to the seat next to him. Doohoon steps on the gas pedal and leaves the parking lot of your and Jungkook's house.

↰ Previous chapter ⋮ ≣ Index ↓ ⋮ Next chapter ↱

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook x f!reader #jungkook smut #jungkook friends with benefits #bts mafia au #bts fanfction

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inprogresspokemon · 5 months ago

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#639.? - According to legend, Terrakion, alongside the other Swords of Justice, had challenged humans in order to protect other Pokémon and their homes. Said to possess phenomenal strength, Terrakion cannot stand bullies, and will mercilessly crush anyone or anything that torments small or weak Pokémon. Theorized to be a possible transitional form between Terrakion and the mysterious Iron Boulder discovered in Area Zero, this Pokémon is beginning to develop a powerful metallic body and psychic capabilities. Its body retains the rugged, bulky appearance of its predecessor, but faint crystalline growths on its horns and legs suggest a shift toward more energy-based abilities. Some researchers theorize that Iron Boulder is merely a counterpart of Terrakion from another timeline, while others hypothesize that it was once been an ordinary Terrakion that was modified by a villainous organization in the far future. If this speculative evolution truly exists, it may hold the key to understanding how a creature of raw, natural strength could evolve into the cold, calculated machine that is Iron Boulder.

Named: Terrakion - - ? - - Iron Boulder

- - - - - - - - - -

Follow for more In-Progress Pokemon evolutions!

FAQ | Social Media | Pokemon Index | Commission Information

#pokemon #fakemon #in progress pokemon #terrakion #iron boulder #gen9 #gen5 #unova #paldea #future pokemon #paradox pokemon #IPPparadox #rock type #fighting type #psychic type #unnamed

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greggslife · 8 months ago

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Here Are My Top 10 Favourite Ants

(Updated due to public outcry and political pressure.)

No. 10 - Yellow Crazy Ants

These guys are on a list of "one hundred of the world's worst invasive species" formulated by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), having invaded ecosystems from Hawaii to the Seychelles.

But don't hate just because they are awesome at establishing themselves in a new habitat due to their aggression toward other ant species, lack of aggression toward members of their own species, efficient recruitment, and large colony size. Respect the hustle!

No. 9 - Paraponera Clavata

Also known as the "bullet ant," "the one wounding deeply," or "24-hour ant", referring to the full day of pain that follows being stung.

This ant's sting currently ranks the highest of all insect stings on Justin O. Schmidt's informal sting pain index, at 4.0+. Some victims compared the pain to that of being shot, (hence the nickname,) with "waves of burning, throbbing, all-consuming pain that continues unabated for up to 24 hours."

Lymphadenopathy, edema, tachycardia, and fresh blood appearing in human victim feces are common symptoms from even a single sting.

Un-fuck-with-able.

No. 8 - Honeypot Ants

The name honeypot ant comes from the peculiar development of replete workers, whose abdomens become so swollen with food that they are used by the rest of the colony as living food storage. They are "drained" during famine, usually the wintertime, to sustain the colony, leaving them as "flaccid depletes."

Disgusting. 10/10

When a replete worker fills with food, a portion of her digestive tract swells and displaces other abdominal organs. It can expand about four to five times its normal linear dimension when they are fully engorged with food.

I can relate. I have eaten pasta in such quantities to displace my own organs many times.

No. 7 - Red Imported Fire Ants

Though South American in origin, the red imported fire ant has been accidentally introduced to many other parts of the world.

More than 14 million people are stung by them in the United States annually. Most victims experience intense burning and swelling, followed by the formation of sterile pustules, which may remain for several days. Up to 6% of people may suffer from anaphylaxis. More than 80 deaths have been recorded from red imported fire ant attacks.

These ants thrive in urban areas. Nests can be built under pavements and foundations. This means not only can they damage or destroy individual structures, but red imported fire ants can have an affect on broader infrastructure, damaging land, business and property values. In agriculture, they can damage crops and machinery, and threaten pastures. They also pose a threat to animals and livestock, capable of inflicting serious injury or death, especially on young, weak, or sick animals.

With annual damages estimated in the billions of dollars, these ants are considered the second worst thing to arrive on North American soil since 1492.

No. 6 - Black Garden Ants

When building their colony, these ants will structure it so as to inhibit the transmission of different contagions. Different communities within the colony are segregated by a limited number of connective nodes, allowing for greater protection of vulnerable hive members, such as larvae and pupae.

A trait I could only wish other species performed so well.

No. 5 - Pharaoh Ants

These ants utilize three types of pheromones. One is a long-lasting attractive chemical that is used to build a trail network. It remains detectable even if the ants do not use the trail for several days.

The second pheromone is also attractive, but will decay to imperceptible amounts in a matter of minutes without reapplication. This pheromone is useful in marking food sources as these are unpredictable and liable to change quickly, so not worth the longer-lasting pheremone.

The third pheromone is a repellant. If an individual finds an unprofitable area with little food or significant danger, it will release this repellant pheromone, which will warn others and cause them to look elsewhere. While positive pheromones indicating lucrative foraging sites are very common in social insects, the pharaoh ant's negative pheromone is highly unusual and pharaoh ants were the first species found to employ such a thing.

No. 4 - Argentine Ant

This species is like the Mr. Worldwide of ants. It has established itself in every continent except Antarctica (including many oceanic islands.)

It even has "supercolonies" that extend across hundreds or thousands of kilometers, first reported in California in 2000, then in Europe in 2002, Japan in 2009, and Australia in 2010.

Several subsequent studies used genetic, behavioral, and chemical analyses to show that supercolonies on separate continents actually represent a single global supercolony.

The researchers stated that the "enormous extent of this population is paralleled only by human society."

How can you not admire (and fear) the ambition and the achievement?

No. 3 - Leafcutter Ants

"Leafcutter ants" is a bit of an umbrella term, as it consists of over 45 ant species, but this gang is just so remarkable. Next to humans, leafcutter ants form some of the largest and most complex animal societies on Earth. They are known for their advanced agricultural practices. These ants are not merely foragers but skilled farmers, cultivating their own food by collecting specific kinds of leaf matter in order to produce specialized fungi in their nests.

No. 2 - Formica Fusca

These ants, (sometimes called silky ants or dusky ants,) are fast to learn, and only a single presentation of stimulus is enough for them to form a genuine long-term memory. This formed memory is also resistant to extinction.

Ants of this species can also detect volatile organic compounds emitted by cancer cells. After a 3-trial conditioning, they can differentiate cancer cell lines from healthy ones. They can also differentiate between at least two different cancerous cell lines.

A similar ability to detect human tumours has been shown in more recent studies.

No. 1 - Weaver Ants

An arboreal species, (i.e. they live in trees,) weaver ants are known for their unique nest building behaviour where workers construct nests by weaving together leaves using larval silk. Colonies can be extremely large consisting of more than a hundred nests spanning numerous trees.

How they sew the leaves together is a remarkable feat of cooperation. Typically, dozens of ants will need to form a chain to first bridge a gap between two leaves, then pull them together so another team can hold them in position whilst yet more ants sew the gap together with silk. But adult ants can't make silk, so they have to use larvae to do it, picking the larvae up and using them like little pots of glue to spin a mat of silk between the two leaves. Altogether, a hundred ants might be involved in the same task. This is a pretty remarkable piece of evolution and a testament to the power of cooperation!

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notiddygothgf · 1 month ago

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xiv

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ I'm sorry.❞

★ c.w.: situationship-typical confusion, smut, cunnilingus, poorly timed confessions, phone sex, so much yearning and so much angst, oh my god.

★ a/n: oh my god. this chapter was such a MONSTER TO WRITE!!! i will say, it's like 70% angst. BUT!!! we get to see some majorrrr development. Honestly, i'm a little nervous about posting this, as I'm not very confident, but i think that's only because it takes such a bold turn. I'm gonna HOPE it translates well lol... i don't wanna say too much (other than to keep on dropping those beautiful comments that make me giggle), but... strap in lol. it's a ride.

★ w.c: 12.4k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU HAD ALWAYS wanted to be a nurse – white uniform, slicked-back hair, the whole nine yards. You had gone as far as first aid training before the reality of your situation kicked in, of course. Realistically speaking, you had no way of financing such an endeavor. Your father passed when you were young, leaving the financial burden of raising a child alone to your mother. You wished you could say that she did the best she could, but that would be a lie. In reality, your mother spent much of her time spending what little spare money she did have on maintaining her social life. Nights at bars and parties that bled early into the morning – some days, she would be coming home and kicking her shoes off with that tipsy grin of hers just as you were getting ready for school.

So, when the two of you had a big argument and she yelled at you to “take your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” you weren’t exactly leaving much behind. Freshly 18 and completely overwhelmed by possibilities, you didn’t have the means – financially or emotionally – to build yourself the future you had always wanted. It was there that you approached the first decision that led you here – the decision to join Public Safety.

You were far too frail for the military. No, bootcamp didn’t sound appealing at all. Not only that, but you weren’t all too crazy about the principle of killing people for money.

So, your only other option – the only other way you would be able to afford college – was Public Safety. If you worked for them for at least a year, they would pay for your college. The best part of all? There would be no human blood on your hands.

At least, that was the idea.

You had it all planned out. Hell, you even had a little binder… one that had your transcripts, hopes, and dreams contained within. One that had been collecting dust for the past few years of your career as a Public Safety officer. Year after year, those application deadlines would roll past, and year after year, your dreams drifted further and further away from you. Before you knew it, you seemed to have forgotten about it entirely.

Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe you lost your resolve. Either way, you sure as hell weren’t a nurse.

Two paths diverged into a yellow wood, or whatever the hell it was that Robert Frost said – and you sure as hell took the road less traveled by. Decision after decision had led you to your position. Similarly, it was through a series of truly unfortunate decisions that you found yourself where you were today.

That is, of course, running away the moment you made eye contact with your superior, Aki Hayakawa. You had seen him walking up the same hallway he always did – the one on the second floor, somewhere between his office and Makima’s.

Truthfully, you had been avoiding him for two days now – you hadn’t answered either of his phone calls, and you certainly hadn’t answered his “Are you up?” text. Yesterday hadn’t been hard, but today was office day. That meant that the chance of you running into him was a hell of a lot higher.

He was walking toward you, his long strides easy, effortless—just like they always were. Hair tied neatly, coat slung over one arm, and head tilted slightly toward the colleague beside him. He was saying something, probably about a mission. You couldn’t hear it. Didn’t need to.

The moment you saw him, something in your chest lurched. Not in a cute, fluttery kind of way—but more like your organs suddenly wanted to evacuate your body.

You winced. Immediately.

Then you did what any emotionally stable adult would do: you veered.

Hard left.

The breakroom door opened under your hand with a faint creak and closed behind you just as quickly. You pressed your back to it for a second, exhaling slow. Relief bloomed through your chest like something warm.

That was a close one.

Safe.

Or so you thought.

The door clicked again.

You froze.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The click of it shutting gently. The hush of movement behind you. You could feel him…calm, still, and watching.

“Good morning,” you said, after a beat.

Your voice sounded even, maybe too even. Like you weren’t currently regretting every life decision that led to this very moment.

Aki’s voice followed close behind, low and measured. “You’re avoiding me.”

No shit.

You turned around, meeting his eyes. He looked like he always did, clean lines, sharp gaze, emotion held just behind the eyes. But something else was there too. Curiosity. Concern. Maybe a bit of frustration.

Maybe he’s overthinking, too.

“No, I’m not,” you replied quickly, lifting your mug like some kind of deflective totem.

His expression didn’t change. “You literally just took off running when you saw me.”

Dammit.

You winced again. “…Okay. Maybe I didn’t wanna interrupt your conversation.”

Aki raised a brow. Slowly.

“You haven’t answered my calls,” he said. “Or my texts. Not even the one where I asked if you were up. Something’s wrong.”

You hated how direct he was. Always had. It made it impossible to brush things under the rug.

You hesitated, glancing to the side like the coffee machine might offer you divine intervention.

He was still watching you.

Still waiting.

You took a breath and set your mug down on the counter with a quiet clink. “Do you really wanna do this here?”

The words came out more tired than defensive. A quiet admission.

Aki didn’t move. But you saw the faint shift in his expression, something soft threading its way into the angles of his face. His eyes dropped briefly to the floor, then back up to you.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Unless there’s… some reason we shouldn’t.”

There was a pause. A thick, stretched silence that seemed to fill every inch of the tiny breakroom. You looked down at your hands.

“It’s stupid,” you said.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how small the room was. How close he was. And how tired you were of trying to pretend.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” He went on, “Something’s wrong.”

God, I hate how self-aware he is.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to hold yourself together. “I didn’t know how to talk to you after… the night at my apartment.”

He blinked. Just once. “That’s it?”

“The hell do you mean, ‘That’s it’?” You hissed back, fingers gripping the mug a little tighter.

“I mean,” He sighed, walking over to the breakroom counter and leaning up against it like he owned the damn thing. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because I spent the night?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, eyes trained on the floor tiles.

“Jesus, Aki.” You shook your head. “I really don’t wanna do this here.”

“Why not?” he asked, and he didn’t sound smug—he sounded genuinely confused. Like he hadn’t realized just how deep that night had burrowed itself into your chest.

You glanced up at him sharply. “Because this is the breakroom,” you said, voice low and tight. “Because there are cameras in the hallway and people two doors down who love to gossip. Because I’m barely keeping it together and I’m not interested in becoming office entertainment for the day.”

His brows pulled together at that, his gaze softening, but you saw the way his jaw flexed. He wasn’t going to let this go.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to give yourself something to do with your body that didn’t involve reaching for him.

He was about to say something, something serious by the look in his eyes, when the breakroom door creaked open behind you.

You both turned.

It was Fujioka from Records – mid-thirties, always a little too cheerful in the mornings, and unfortunately, incredibly observant. He walked in holding a chipped white mug and blinked at the two of you standing just a little too close in the corner by the counter.

“Morning,” he said with a polite little nod, but his tone held a hint of curiosity, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was trying to piece together what he’d just walked in on.

You instantly stepped back, putting a little space between yourself and Aki, suddenly very interested in the stale coffee pot behind you.

“Morning,” you mumbled, reaching for a paper cup you didn’t actually need.

Aki nodded too, a little stiffly. “Hey.”

Fujioka moved around the room casually, but you could feel the change in the air—how the tension still clung to the walls even as everyone tried to pretend otherwise. You focused on fixing your nonexistent coffee, stirring an empty cup just to avoid looking at anyone.

Fujioka cleared his throat as he poured himself a mug, the sound of liquid hitting ceramic loud in the painfully quiet room. He lingered by the sugar packets longer than necessary, as if waiting for someone to resume conversation. No one did.

Eventually, mercifully, he gave up.

“Well… see you two around,” he said, lifting his mug in a lazy salute before strolling back out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud.

The moment he was gone, the spell broke.

You hissed under your breath, spinning on your heel to face Aki again. “I can’t keep doing this– this… push and pull thing. I can’t.”

“So your solution is to just pretend I’m not here?” He asked. “Instead of, I don’t know, maybe telling me that?”

Damn, he’s good.

Why does he actually sound… worried? He had the nerve to stand in front of you and actually give a shit about you.

Folding your arms protectively over your chest, you tried your best to not let it show how much his tone affected you. He was scolding you again – in that way only he could… subtly, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and… fuck, okay, maybe ignoring you wasn’t really fair, but I… I needed space to think.”

When he didn’t reply, merely crossing his own arms in response, you added, “Distance.”

“...Distance,” He repeated back, the words sounding a whole lot stupider now that you were hearing them coming from someone else’s mouth.

“I don’t… We shouldn’t be doing this, Aki,” You sighed. “It’s not healthy. For either of us.”

His silence was fucking deafening.

“So,” he finally said, voice careful, “You want to break it off. If that’s what you want, I completely understand.”

It wasn’t a question.

Then his voice dipped even quieter, something raw at the edges. “That is what you want, right?”

Say yes.

Dammit, say yes.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Because it wasn’t what you wanted – and, by the looks of it, it wasn’t what he wanted, either. You couldn’t even nod. You just stood there, swallowing down the lump in your throat, knowing your silence was all the answer he needed.

Aki held your gaze for a beat longer. He didn’t ask again. Didn't press. But something in his expression faltered. Subtle, barely there, like a hairline crack in ice.

He stepped past you slowly, deliberately. His shoulder brushed yours, and he lingered just a second longer than he had to. Not long enough to be noticed. Just long enough to be felt.

“When you make up your mind, give me a call,” he said as he reached the door. His hand paused on the handle. “If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then he left.

No parting look. No sigh. Just the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

And then it was just you.

The hum of the old vending machine filled the quiet. The smell of burnt coffee lingered like something gone stale. You exhaled, but it didn’t make you feel any lighter. If anything, the weight in your chest settled deeper, a kind of ache that made it hard to stand still, but harder to move.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You stared at the counter, at the same cup of untouched coffee you’d been pretending to drink.

What do I want?

The next few days at work dragged like a bad dream you kept waking up inside of. Everything was functional, fine, normal—which somehow made it worse. No one noticed the shift but you, because the shift wasn’t in the air. It was in him.

Aki didn’t avoid you. Not exactly.

He said hi when he passed you in the hallway. Nodded politely when you sat in on briefings. Never once cut his eyes toward you longer than necessary. And it was that restraint—measured, precise—that killed you the most. The way he’d returned to the version of himself you used to know before all this, before the apartment, before the softness. The version that kept things clean. Professional. Cold.

You used to admire that about him.

Now, it just made your chest feel hollow.

The week stretched out like an endless gray horizon, every day bleeding into the next without ceremony or relief. You told yourself silence would help. That stepping back, shutting down, giving space, was the only way to protect what was left, maybe even save something.

But it didn’t. Not really.

It started with the same hollow knot twisting in your stomach that you’d been trying to ignore since the break room confrontation. You showed up early, trying to drown out the unease with the routine – filing reports, restocking supplies, moving through the motions like a ghost.

You caught yourself glancing toward the hallway, expecting maybe, just maybe, Aki would be there. Maybe he’d say something, anything. But he wasn’t.

He greeted the team when he walked in, clipped and professional, but the moment his eyes found you, they flicked away like you were a shadow best avoided. It wasn’t cold exactly, but it was… distant. Like a radio that had lost signal, static filling the space where connection used to be.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself it was fine. That you were fine. That this was how it had to be.

The next day was worse.

The office was busier, and the tension was thicker. He passed you in the hall with a nod that didn’t quite reach his eyes. During the briefing, you sat close enough to hear the sharpness in his voice as he gave orders, precise and clipped.

You remembered the night at your apartment – how he had held you like he meant it – and the ache that still lingered under your ribs. Now, all of that softness felt like a fragile illusion, shattered and left behind in the past. You hated how badly you missed it. Hated how much you wanted to call him, to hear that same low, satiny voice.

Thursday’s mission day was the worst.

You woke up with that familiar churn of anxiety twisting your stomach, a knot tighter than the day before. There was no room for confusion on missions, no space for hesitation or doubt. You had to be sharp.

But, fuck, every time you caught Aki’s eye across the briefing room, you saw the same cold, unreadable mask he wore in the field.

He was professional, all business. No cracks. No softness. No trace of the man who had whispered “I’ve never had this before. Otherwise, I think I’d know how to handle it,” in your apartment just days ago.

He gave commands like a machine, precise and unyielding. When he passed you, there was a nod. No warmth, no recognition. You could have been a fucking stranger. A ghost haunting the edges of his focus.

He was putting up walls again. You could feel them being built, brick by brick, every time his gaze slid past you. Every time his voice dropped into something carefully neutral when you entered the room. And the worst part? You were the one who’d started it. You’d handed him the bricks.

That is what you want, right?

By the time Friday night rolled around, the question was buzzing around inside of your head.

You told yourself you were going to have a self care night. All of the week’s situationship drama had you at your wit’s end. You wanted nothing more than to sink into a nice, warm bubble bath, to clean the troubles away from your face, to snuggle up into freshly cleaned sheets in your favorite pajamas.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You scrubbed at your face until it felt dry – aching to rid yourself of some of the week’s tension. You tied your hair back and settled into bed at the ripe hour of nine thirty.

The radio played a gentle tune, low and steady, like a soft breath in a room full of too much noise. You had your book open, but you weren’t reading shit. The words spilled past your eyes, blurry and meaningless, lost beneath the weight of everything you couldn’t shake.

No, instead, your mind kept looping back to him, replaying snippets of conversations past like a fucking broken record.

“I’ve never had this before,”

“You missed me that much?”

“You did so good for me,”

“When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You thought of how fucking cold he had been to you all week. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before. No, you wished you could say that he was being petty and taking it out on you. That’s just the thing, though – he wasn’t. For the most part, things had returned to the way they used to be.

It seemed that you were the only one who couldn’t.

You were the one who was falling apart, which was crazy, because you had been the one to call for a break in the first place. You were the one who had insisted that distance would help to clear up some of the congestion in your mind, and what did you have to show? A few sleepless nights? A boatload of stress?

God, I bet he’s not even stressing about this, you thought – briefly. Then, your mind wandered right on back to the argument in the breakroom. The way he had stopped just before leaving, eyes glancing over you like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to let you go, either, uttering those damn words that you had been thinking about all fucking week.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then, the memory of his lips lingered on your spine – warm and hot and tender, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“You did so good for me. I should give you a reward, hmm?”

The quiet always brought him back. The memory of his hands tracing slow, reverent paths over your body like he was trying to map out every scar, every soft part of you, like he wanted to memorize all of it. The way he hovered just above you for a moment, just breathing you in, like he couldn’t believe he had you beneath him again. Like he didn’t want to rush it.

"Tap my thigh three times if you want me to stop."

Your thoughts dipped lower, slower – his mouth, warm and open at your neck, dragging over your shoulder, his breath skimming the curve of your spine. The way his voice dropped when he issued a command, quiet and aching, like it meant something different when he said it in the dark.

“You feel me, Baby?”

“You’re such a good girl for me.”

He had always touched you like he wanted to prove something. Like no one else had ever touched you right before. And you let him, because maybe that was the only place the two of you ever made any damn sense…

Skin to skin, breathless and tangled in the half-light.

The memory pulled tight in your gut, sudden and sharp, the ache curling low in your belly. Your thighs pressed together without thinking. Fuck.

You swallowed and squeezed your eyes shut.

Because it wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was what he did when that look shifted, when the tension cracked and gave way to hunger. That unspoken give it to me. That fierce, unrelenting pull between his control and the way he unraveled when he had you underneath him. The way he’d pin your wrists down with one hand, his mouth dragging down your collarbone with the other, low and hot and wanting.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

He always knew how to draw it out of you—how to get you trembling and soaked and desperate before he ever even got inside. He took his damn time. He liked watching you fall apart. Liked the way you said his name in pieces.

“You’ve probably fucked this pretty pussy to the thought of it, haven’t you?”

And you were remembering it now a little too vividly. The way his voice dropped an octave when he whispered in your ear, telling you not to look away. The drag of his hips against yours, slow and firm, like he wanted you to feel everything. The way he tasted on your tongue. The way he grunted when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have no… fucking idea how I feel when you call me that.”

You could practically hear him now… rough and low and barely coherent, right at the edge, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how close he was. His fingers digging into your thigh. The heat of his skin pressed flush to yours.

“Do you have… any clue… What you fucking do to me?”

Your hand twitched where it rested on your stomach.

You were turned on. Ridiculously.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just the sex that was wrecking you. It was the way he held you after. The way he tucked his face into your neck and breathed you in. The way his thumb brushed soft circles into your hip like he couldn’t stop touching you even after it was over. The way his voice went quiet, honest, like things slipped out he didn’t mean to say.

Things like “I’ve never had this before.”

And now you were alone in your bedroom, hand inching down your stomach, chest rising and falling too fast, flushed and aching and stupid with want for a man you said you needed space from.

God, space didn’t feel like the clarity you needed – it felt like fucking torture.

You’d told yourself it was about relief, about easing the pressure in your chest, in your gut, the kind that had been building all week. But it wasn’t just about that. Not really.

Because the second your eyes slipped closed, your mind brought him back. His eyes, his lips, the way he’d made love to you only a week earlier, patient and tender and far too careful for someone who claimed not to feel shit.

Your hand moved lower, and you tried to chase the ghost of that night, the way his breath had caught, the sound he made when you pulled him closer. But it was no good. Your skin didn’t burn the way it did when he touched you. Your pulse didn’t stutter the same way. You were too aware of the absence, too aware of the space between then and now.

Your fingers slid down between your folds, collecting slick onto the tips. Slowly, carefully, you found your clit and began rolling the digits over the little nub in circles. A little faster, then, as you kept on thinking about how he’d felt, how he’d kissed you.

It wasn’t scratching the itch. It wasn’t even fucking close.

Before you knew it, the frustration crept back in. Nothing’s working.

Your eyes found your phone on the nightstand almost instantaneously. It was folded shut, sitting aimlessly atop the wooden surface, but it glared back at you.

He was just one call away, after all.

No, stop it.

You sat up, dragging a hand down your face like that might scrub the thought away, like that would ground you in something rational. Your chest felt too tight. You could still hear his voice in your head—low, steady, the way it used to sound when he was whispering things against your neck like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

God, what the hell am I doing?

And then you were spiraling again. Remembering the weight of him. The way he looked at you like he was trying not to fall. Like he already had.

Your eyes flicked to the phone again.

No.You clenched your jaw, swung your legs off the bed. Maybe some water. Maybe cold air. Maybe anything else.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, breathing too hard, fingers paused on your clit like you were holding yourself back from something reckless.

God, what the hell am I doing?

You reached for the phone anyway. With the other hand, you continued to rub yourself up and down, side to side – slowly, tentatively.

And, dammit, you were weak. You knew you were weak because it wasn’t sex you thought about in your time of need. No, it was him – nothing casual about that.

I’m so sexually frustrated right now, I don’t even care.

Then, his words, a cruel echo in your mind, “When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Still, you couldn’t help the way you shifted your hips to get a better angle, thumb flicking through the contacts until you found that damn name at the top.

Aki Hayakawa.

Fuck it.

You clicked the dial button, and let it ring. Once, twice…

Then the line clicked.

“Hey,” He answered, voice deep and groggy, thick with sleep, “Something wrong?”

I knew he would answer, you thought. Still, it was uncanny, the way relief blanketed you. You were so relieved, in fact, that your heart wasn’t the only thing that twitched at the sound of his voice.

Whoops.

“I… No, I…” You trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words now that you finally got him on the line.

God, what do I even say? Hey, you know how we’ve been ignoring each other for a week? Yeah, I want to fuck. Ridiculous.

God, this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” You admitted, hand pausing its movements over your clit for just a moment because, fuck it all, you were nervous.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the shifting of fabric, like he was in bed when you’d called. “My voice?” He asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Everything okay?”

It’s like I can’t stay mad at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Was all you said, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Bad dream?” He grumbled.

Fuck, his voice is so hot, You thought.

“No, just… thoughts,” You replied, waving your hand around like he could see it. “Won’t shut up.”

Only a partial lie.

“...What kind of thoughts?” He asked, and your heart fucking dropped – suddenly, his tone shifted, and you weren’t so confident about your little mission any longer.

I’m a fucking idiot.

Oh well.

Quietly, you breathed out the answer, like you were scared of it, “About you.”

Another pause, and this time, your heart was racing against your ribs. Your pulse thrummed in your veins, electric. You couldn’t take the words back now that they were out there – you’d officially thrown in the white flag.

Then, he replied, suddenly a lot more breathy, “Yeah?”

Fuck, you thought. Slowly, you resumed your ministrations, touching yourself to the sound of his voice even though you knew it was wrong.

I’m going to hell, anyways. Might as well go out with a bang.

Before you could control it, a wanton whimper slipped out from your lips. Fuck.

“What are you doing right now?” He asked. The words were a silky, devilish croon, sweet like they’d been dipped in chocolate.

I’ve been caught red-handed.

Rather than answering him like you probably should have done, you stayed quiet, too ashamed of the situation to speak – which was arguably a whole lot worse.

“I was… trying to get off ‘n…” You huffed out, rolling your hips down into the bed, fingers drawing shapes and circles over the most sensitive part of you and, fuck, it wasn’t nearly enough. Arching your back, you sighed, “Get my mind off of you.”

He replied, “Did it work?”

You answered with a soft, breathless laugh, “Clearly not.”

“Needy baby,” he said, voice dipping just low enough to graze your spine, and you nearly moaned at the mere sound of it. There was a pause on his end, weighted, knowing, before he added, quieter this time, “Put the phone on speaker.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the device, pressing the button with more hesitation than you cared to admit. A soft click, then the room filled with him. That damned voice. That voice that had whispered against your neck, your shoulder, your chest, now flooding the silence of your bedroom like it belonged there.

Like you hadn’t spent the past week hating his guts.

“Can you hear me?”

You swallowed, heart stammering against your ribs. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I hear you.”

And God, did you. You heard the rough edge to his voice, still heavy with sleep. You heard the warmth threading through it despite the hour, the kind of warmth that made your stomach flutter and your chest tighten in the same breath. You felt it in your fingertips, in the back of your throat.

You heard him and, somehow, you knew he’d missed you as much as you had missed him.

“Good,” He answered, “Let me take care of you. Where are your fingers?”

Oh my god, you thought, I’m really doing this, right now?

I’m really about to have phone sex with my fucking Captain.

And you confessed, “Rubbing… circles–”

You could almost see him – seated on the edge of his bed, one hand raking through his hair, jaw clenched, brows knit with something he wasn’t letting himself say.

“Aw… poor thing. Can’t get off without being told what to do, hm?”

Your throat tightened. He sounded like he was teasing, but there was something else woven into it. That deep, domineering tone – the one that made you want to give yourself up to him entirely.

And, just like that, you were wrapped around his finger all over again.

“Bring those fingers up to your mouth, pretty,” He said after a beat passed. “Get them nice and wet for me.”

Mindlessly, you followed his command. You pulled your fingers away from your needy pussy, out of your pajama pants, and brought the two digits up to your parted mouth. Then, slowly, you wrapped your lips around them, sucking them clean, getting them wet with your spit. You could taste yourself on your own tongue, tangy and sweet.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel stupid. No, for the first time in a week, you felt sexy, wanted, desired.

“Are you in bed?”

“Mhm,” You hummed back, the sound muffled by your fingers. The wet digits came out of your mouth with a quiet pop. You couldn’t help but yearn for him – wish that he could have been there in person instead of over the phone, wish that it could have been his fingers, pressing down on your tongue, thick and long.

“Put the phone down next to you,” He told you.

You followed again, hand shaking slightly as you laid the phone down on the bed beside you.

God, this is so depraved, but I don’t even care.

“Good girl,” His voice was warm, low… almost reverent. You would do anything for him so long as he kept on calling you that. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the sound of his voice, to picture him.

“I want you to reach under your shirt,” He continued, “And tease yourself. Lightly. Just enough to work yourself up.”

Feeling an awful lot like you were blindly following his commands, you slipped your other hand up beneath the hem of your cami. You weren’t wearing a bra – because why the hell would you – so it didn’t take much at all for you to get a handful of your own breast. The skin was warm, soft, malleable beneath your touch. You gave it a tender squeeze, then massaged the flesh in your palm like you had all fucking night.

A blissful little sigh slipped out as your thumb skittered across your nipple. The skin perked up beneath your fingertips, forming a stiffened peak. Then, as you repeated the gesture – intentionally, this time – another.

“You sound so pretty, Baby,” He commented, and, fuck, it was enough to send warmth fluttering through your chest, your veins. You felt like you were fucking melting. “What are you wearing?”

The classic line.

“A– A cami and…” You whined, “‘n some pink shorts. No panties.”

It was true. You had planned on getting off tonight (one way or another), and had decided to ditch the panties in an effort to make things easier.

Of course, you hadn’t banked on calling the man you’d been avoiding to get off, and you sure as hell hadn’t banked on him actually picking up.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” His breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you pull those shorts to the side for me, then, and use your fingers to get off, hm?”

Shaking, you reached down between your thighs. Your fingers grazed the lacy hem of the pink shorts you had on. Then, without questioning where he was going, you pulled the crotch to the side and put your fingers back where they had been only a few moments prior.

You moaned, then – quietly, but it was loud enough that he heard it. The skin between your thighs was gooey, slick, coated in your own arousal. The effect he had on you was absurd. He’d just picked up the phone, and you were already soaked.

“Just like that. Nice and slow,” He hummed. “Now, tell me about those thoughts you were having.”

You swallowed, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising with the weight of the words stuck somewhere between your ribs. Your fingers found your clit once more – like muscle memory – and rolled over the bud in tight, narrow circles.

“Was thinking about what I’d do if I saw you again,” you said softly. “Thinking about – fuck – about how good you feel inside of me.”

Well, this call went 0-100 very quickly, didn’ t it?

“I miss your hands,” you went on, “On my body, on my neck… Fuck, your fingers always feel… so good. Mine don’t feel the same.”

You heard him exhale, a sound like a quiet wind through the receiver.

“Don’t tempt me,” He replied. “Go a little faster now, pretty.”

“I keep thinking about the last time,” you confessed. “How you punished me. How you fucked me.”

Another pause. Then, his voice, softer now. “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, lips parting. “I’m literally fucking myself to the sound of your voice, and you want to talk about dirty?”

“Never denied it. Keep playing with your chest, Baby,” He continued, “And slip a finger into that pretty pussy for me. Wouldn’t wanna keep her waiting.”

“They’re not as big as yours,” You remarked. Still, you took your hand away from your clit, drawing shapes around your aching entrance. “They won’t feel the same.”

“I know,” He sighed, like he wished he could come through the phone and feel you for himself, “But pretend for a moment. Push it all the way in, then crook it up for me.”

You did exactly that. Your finger caught on that place nestled oh-so deep inside of your cunt, that mushy spot that sent electricity flying up and down your spine. The movement caused another cry to slip out, one of his name, “Aki.”

“I’m here,” He replied. “Feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” You breathed out. You moved the finger back and forth, caressing your walls, pulling more of those noises out of you – the ones he seemed to love so much.

“Add another finger,” Was his next command, “Let me hear you.”

You swallowed, heart thudding so loud it nearly drowned him out. The silence in your room was too soft, too full of want and everything you hadn’t said. Still, you obeyed, shifting where you lay, skin warm beneath the sheets. The second digit breached your entrance, stretching you open, filling you out just right.

A quiet sound escaped you – breath catching as your body answered before your mouth could.

“There you go,” he murmured, gentler now. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” You answered in kind, sliding the two fingers in, out, in again… You were still so tight, so much so that your wrists burned with the strain of moving your knuckles. Still, your fingers found that spot again – over and over, and it was enough to have your jaw dropping, sinful noises pouring from your lips like he was actually here. “Wish it were your fingers instead– Oh my God, Aki.”

And then, you heard it. The quietest sound on the other end of the line. A shift. A breath. A high-pitched, muffled whimper. Your lips parted.

“…Aki?” You asked, your voice gentle, curious. “Are you…?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice had changed – rougher around the edges, deeper. “Keep going, Baby.”

Oh my god.

He’s doing it, too.

He’s getting off to the sound of my voice.

At the mere thought – the mere image of him laying down with a hand down his pants, stroking himself languidly to the sound of your moans, your words – you tilted your head back, exposing the column of your neck, and breathed, “God, fuck– I need… I wanna feel you moving, throbbing– wanna hear you tell me how good I am for you.”

“You’re always so good for me,” He exhaled, a shuddery, airy sound, followed by a deep, velvety moan, “And you feel so fucking good, too– every time, it feels like the first. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You giggled – yes, really giggled – and plunged your fingers in a little deeper, until your vision was hazy. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, “Should’ve just told me. Instead of ignoring each other, we could have been fucking each other.”

“You’re the one who said you needed space,” He retorted.

Touché.

Continuing, he added, “But no one else can make you feel the way I can, huh?”

No, you thought, You have no fucking idea.

“No one– ngh,” You breathed. “Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fuck anyone else.” Arching your back, you let out another moan – long, drawn out, and debauched. “Fuck, Aki, I need you.”

You had been stupid to believe otherwise – stupid to believe that you could possibly have stayed away from him.

No, you were addicted.

“Scissor those fingers, stretch that pussy open for me,” He uttered. “Mmh– bet you look so perfect right now, fucking yourself on your fingers like that. Wish I could see you.”

With a laugh, you teased, “Get your ass over here, then– mhm, shit–” Another arch, another shift of your hips, and your eyes were fluttering shut, “Aki-i.”

“You keep saying my name like that and I just might,” He laughed breathlessly.

A spark lit inside you – dangerous, reckless. “Please. I’ll be good, promise. I’ll make you feel so good.” The words slipped out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent.

“I know you will. You always do,” he said, the softness in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please,” you begged, voice barely a whisper.

“Use your words,” he teased, but there was something steady in his tone. “You want me to come over there and make you feel better?”

You hesitated, reality pressing in. It was late, too late for this. “Probably not a good idea. It’s two in the morning.”

“Fuck, it is,” he laughed, the sound warm and rough. “But I would do it if you asked me. I’d take good care of you, too.” The promise in his voice was almost enough to make you say yes.

Hell, with a voice like that, he could make a nun peel her clothes off.

“Really?” You held your breath, the thought of him closing the distance between you sending heat rushing through your veins.

“Of course,” he said simply. “Why, you thinking about it?”

Your mind raced. The loneliness, the ache for him… it was loud, relentless. But, fuck, if you didn’t get him inside of you by the end of the night, you were going to blow your fucking brains out.

He laughed again, low and teasing, like he was reveling in the sound of you begging for him, “God, you’re so bad. You want me, baby?”

You knew this was a terrible idea. You just told him you needed space—that this had to stop—and yet here you were, heart pounding, breath shallow, daring to ask him to come over.

Shit, what am I doing? The question burned in your chest, but it was drowned out by the ache deeper down, the one that made your skin tingle and your stomach twist in desperate knots. You’d been holding it in all week—those unspoken words and half-remembered touches—but tonight, the distance was unbearable. He was the only thing that could soothe the fire that had been growing inside you.

“I need you,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please come over.”

There was a pause, a soft exhale on the other end. “I shouldn’t,” he said, the weight of hesitation heavy in his voice. You could almost hear the struggle behind it.

Then the unmistakable jingle of keys being grabbed. Your heart surged.

“Think you can wait ten minutes?” he asked, a thread of something unreadable – Concern? Longing? –underneath the words.

You closed your eyes, swallowing down the part of your brain still screaming Don’t do this.

You’d already come this far.

“I’ve been waiting a whole week,” you said, voice low and shaky but honest. “Just come over and fuck me, Hayakawa.”

There it was. The name on your lips sent a shiver racing down your spine.

He laughed – soft, breathy, a sound that felt like a warm caress through the phone. “I’m coming. I’m coming, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t leave my favorite girl waiting,” he added, and that simple sentence made your heart feel impossibly full.

I’m his favorite girl.

He hung up before you could say more, leaving your thoughts spinning.

Your hands trembled as you jumped up, rushing to straighten your apartment like it would make a difference. You wiped the faintest traces of your day off your skin, trying to erase the evidence of any debauchery.

But you didn’t want to disappear – not tonight. Not when he was coming.

You barely recognized your own apartment as you hurried through it, your heart thudding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Every surface got a quick wipe down – the coffee table, cluttered with scattered papers and half-empty mugs, was cleared and polished until it caught the light just right. You shoved laundry into the hamper, smoothed out the rumpled blankets on the couch, and flicked off the harsh overhead light, switching on a small lamp to cast a soft, warm glow across the room.

Your bedroom wasn’t much better, but you did your best to make it look less like the chaos of your week and more like a sanctuary. You plumped the pillows, pulled the sheets tight over the mattress, and folded back the blanket just so. The faint scent of lavender from the linen spray mingled with your own perfume, a hint of something sweet and familiar.

Then you caught your reflection in the mirror and paused. You were still in the same soft, worn pajamas you’d been wearing all night – comfortable but nothing special.

You tugged at the loose fabric of the pajama top, smoothing it over your curves. With a slow, deliberate motion, you loosened the top few buttons, revealing a sliver of skin at your collarbone. You ran your fingers over the silky material, adjusting it until it clung in just the right places – soft, but… probably sexy.

You hoped.

Your hair was a mess from the day, so you took a moment to run your fingers through it, pushing strands back behind your ears and letting the rest fall in loose waves. You traced the line of your neck, feeling the familiar ache of want settle deeper inside you.

A quick swipe of lip balm, a not-so-subtle douse of perfume and body mist �� just enough to make you feel like you were somewhat presentable.

And then, after eleven minutes (yes, you had been anxiously watching the time), a knock sounded at the front door of your apartment.

Your breath hitched, and your hand shook as you moved to answer it.

When you opened the door, there he was – a great deal taller than you, looking like something straight out of a wet dream. He had on a form-fitting black tee – one that hugged his muscular arms and narrow waist, illuminating his broad chest and shoulders – and a pair of loose-fitting gray sweatpants. His hair was down, a little frizzy, and he smelled like a fresh spritz of that cologne you wished you knew the name of. Most importantly, his eyes, wild and blown full of lust, were on you.

He came. And, from the looks of it, he wasn’t in the mood to bring up old grievances, either.

His gaze swept over you, slow and steady — from your tousled hair to the sliver of skin at your midriff your pajama shirt didn’t quite cover. There was hunger in his eyes, sure. But there was something softer too. Like he’d been thinking about this. About you.

“Missed me?” He teased you, shining that crooked grin and, fuck, you couldn’t care less about what the two of you had said in the break room nearly a week earlier.

He was here, in front of you, and all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to your level, “Shut up.”

His mouth met yours before you could second-guess yourself. Heat, pressure, the familiar curl of want. Your back hit the door as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands bracing against the wood beside your head, the other sliding down to rest at your waist like he was holding back. Like if he let go, he’d lose control.

You didn’t want him to hold back.

Somewhere between breaths and half-formed words, you stumbled backward together – his hand finding yours, your laugh caught in your throat as you bumped into the hallway wall, then the other. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, warm against your hip, and the way he touched you – not rushed, not rough, just like he knew exactly where you needed him – made you shiver.

“You look good,” he murmured, voice low as his lips grazed your jaw. “These yours?”

You blinked, confused.

“The pajamas,” he clarified, fingers brushing over the fabric at your hip.

I knew he would like it, you thought with a smug little grin.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Didn’t exactly have time to change.”

He huffed a soft laugh, lips brushing your ear. “Good. I like you like this.”

“You came all this way to say that?” you teased.

“Nope,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look you over, thumb brushing your cheek. “Came here to do this–”

He bent slightly and, without warning, scooped you up in his arms, throwing your legs around his waist with very little effort.

You yelped – and he laughed harder, stumbling a little as he adjusted your weight. Your arms looped around his neck, faces brushing close again, and you were kissing him before he even made it halfway down the hall.

It was clumsy. Dizzy, but fuck, it was hot.

You felt your shoulder bump a wall, and he muttered “shit” between kisses, trying not to trip over his own feet – but neither of you could stop laughing.

Or kissing. Or touching, for that matter.

You were pressed so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his skin through that tight black shirt. Close enough that your lips slid together like fucking puzzle pieces, tongues slipping against one another like you were fighting for dominance.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at it, and when you whispered, “Need you to fuck me, Aki,” he groaned – just loud enough to make your stomach twist.

“Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to drop you,” he warned, voice gravel-soft, teasing, lips brushing your neck now as he made it through your bedroom door.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again – slower this time, deeper –and the world around you spun just a little.

Oh, you were so screwed.

By the time he reached your bed, you were breathless. Your fingers tugged at the back of his shirt. His mouth was at your jaw. You felt like you were burning alive in the best possible way.

He leaned down, pressing you gently to the mattress like you were something fragile. Like he wasn’t about to break you.

He hovered over you for a moment, gazing down like he was trying to piece together something he didn’t have the words for. Then he leaned in again, brushing his lips across your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Not rushed. Like he was trying to linger in every second before it slipped away. You tilted your head, welcoming him closer, a shaky breath leaving you when his mouth found the base of your throat.

He sighed against your skin – long, slow, and pretty – like this was the one place in the world he wanted to be.

Your fingers drifted up the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of his head, needing more of him, needing to feel all the places where he was warm and solid and real. You weren’t even sure what you were chasing anymore.

“I missed this,” you whispered without really meaning to.

He didn’t answer with words. Just exhaled softly, the sound muffled against your collarbone. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he sat back on his knees and reached behind his head, gathering his hair to tie it. The motion was efficient, practiced, but there was something about it that made your stomach turn over. A kind of anticipation that curled low and deep.

Oh, he’s about to get to work.

His pretty blue eyes flicked up to meet yours once he finished, like he wanted to make sure you really wanted this. Then, he smiled.

Still, he reached for you again, hands steady, gaze lingering on your face like he was trying to read you. You spread your thighs for him instinctively, welcoming, open – and he didn’t need words to understand.

No, the moment before his head dipped, before his mouth met your skin again, you knew he understood. Nothing else mattered – not the conversations, not the arguments, not the consequences.

Just him. Just now.

“Oh my God,” You gasped out, feeling his tongue ghost over your sodden slit, parting the folds and gathering slick into his mouth.

He sucked on you with the most satisfied moan, like you were a fresh-baked dessert, melting on his tongue. Then, without a word of warning, he gripped the back of your thighs with two strong hands and got to work making a mess out of you.

His mouth was hot, warm, everything your fingers couldn’t be. And, shit, he was on a mission to devour you. He dragged his tongue up and down, up and down, until the tip of it caught on your clit. Then, like he was trying to finish the job you had started, he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and licked over it.

Over and fucking over again.

You leaned back, all the way back, and arched up, lifting your stomach off of the bed. You weren’t even trying to hide it – the way your body reached for him, the way you gasped softly every time his mouth skimmed over a new inch of your skin.

God, you needed this. You needed him, all along.

He lowered his head again, lips barely grazing the skin of your stomach, each touch feather-light and slow, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. The warmth of his breath against your cunt sent shivers rippling through you, igniting a fire deep inside that spread with every little lick. His mouth moved with an urgency, practiced and insistent.

Your body responded immediately, arching into his touch, the small of your back lifting higher off the bed.. The tension you’d been holding onto – the ache, the longing, the frustration – started to melt under the heat of his mouth.

Fuck, he knew how to make you forget.

Every suck, every kitten lick was a whisper of desire, slow and deliberate, pulling you deeper into a place you hadn’t been since the last time he was with you.

Holy shit, you thought, Why is he so good at that? It’s unfair.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing lazy, intimate patterns across your ribs and along your waist while he dove in deeper, shifting his head to the side to get a better angle into your needy pussy. The contrast between his cool fingertips and the heat of your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him.

He moved with a speed that was almost unbearable, lips exploring, tasting, worshipping the apex of your pleasure.

Then, he slipped two fingers into your hole – right where yours had been only half an hour earlier – and began to move them around.

You felt your body begin to unravel beneath him, nerves alight and skin humming with pleasure from his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently as if to pull him closer, to keep him where you could feel him – close enough to burn.

“Oh my fucking god,” You pleaded, “Please– Fuck, don’t stop.”

His tongue drew expert shapes over your clit, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses that made your breath shudder. At the same time, his fingers crooked up, easily finding your G-spot like he knew your body better than you did.

The ache in your belly deepened, a delicious tension tightening in your core. You pressed into him, arching higher, wanting more of the way he made you feel – wanted, alive, undone. The room shrank around you, fading until all that mattered was the warmth of his lips on your heat and the steady rhythm of his mouth, the way your moans tangled together in the thick air.

At the curve of your hip, he paused, lips pressing a tender kiss that made your entire body pulse with need. Then, as if savoring the moment, he licked a stripe from the bottom to the top, then back down again – sucking you into his mouth again and again until you were seeing fucking stars.

A raunchy moan escaped you, breath ragged and trembling, as the sensation built inside like a wave about to crash.

His hands roamed higher now, tracing the sensitive skin just below your ribs, fingers splayed as though to hold you together even as you fell apart. You were burning alive in the best way, consumed by the torment of his touch.

But even as the fire inside you blazed, a part of your mind whispered warning, reminding you of the promises made, the lines drawn, the distance you’d sworn to keep. The tangled mix of desire and caution pulled at you, making your breath shallow, heart hammering in your chest.

You wanted to surrender completely, to fall into the heat of the moment and forget everything else, but a flicker of doubt held you back.

“Fuck!” You cried out, “So good, just like that–”

Still, the pull of him was too strong. Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails digging gently into his scalp, urging him closer. Your body arched instinctively, craving the fullness of him, the weight of him pressed against you. The ache in your stomach was no longer just frustration – it was need. Raw, undeniable need.

His eyes lifted to meet yours briefly, dark and searching, filled with something you couldn’t name but recognized deep in your bones. For a heartbeat, the world stood still – just the two of you, caught between the pull of what was right and what felt inevitable.

Breaking away to gasp for air, he spoke gruffly, “Look at me. You close?”

“Mhm!” Was all you managed to get out. While his mouth had broken away, his fingers hadn’t slowed down one bit. No, they kept on massaging that spot inside of you, pulling the strings of your orgasm apart bit by fucking bit.

God, you were so fucking close.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” He groaned.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his lips back to your pussy, trailing kisses down your neck, each one a soft promise, a whispered plea. Your breath hitched again, body trembling under the weight of sensation. The sound you made was quiet but full of everything you were holding back: longing, desperation, the ache of missing him more than you could say.

You let your fingers drift lower, exploring the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, needing to feel every part of him close. The heat of his touch, the softness of his lips against your skin, it all made your head spin.

You told him you needed a break.

And yet, here you were, unraveling on his face, unable to resist.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ cum,” You gasped out, clawing at the sheets with one hand, tugging at his ponytail with the other, “Fuck, don’t stop–”

With a small, breathless sigh, you finally let go. The walls you’d built around yourself crumbled, piece by piece, as you surrendered to the moment. Your body melted beneath him, every nerve ending alive and aching for more. The tension that had coiled inside you snapped free, leaving you trembling and undone.

You came hard. His hands held you steady, grounding you as you gave in completely. You arched into him, lost to the sensation, to the feeling of being seen and wanted and held. It was messy, raw, and beautiful all at once.

You rode out the waves of it, hips jumping against his face, smearing an obscene mix of your juices and his spit all over his face.

You came down slowly, the heat inside you fading into a delicious ache that spread through your limbs and settled deep in your bones. Your breath was ragged, chest rising and falling unevenly, your skin slick with sweat, every nerve ending humming with aftershocks. That desperate, raw craving that had driven you moments ago still lingered, like a spark waiting to ignite again.

It was only then that he broke away.

Aki’s breathing was heavy too, rough and uneven, his chest rising and falling. His hair was wild, tousled in all the right ways, bangs falling over his forehead, sticky with sweat. His eyes caught yours, wild and hungry, like he was burning from the inside out, like he couldn’t get enough.

He pushed himself up, slow and sure. Then, with the bottom half of his face still dripping wet, he leaned in and kissed you – with a hell of a lot of tongue, like he wanted you to see how you tasted.

I need more, You thought.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid over his chest, fingertips dragging lightly across hot skin, as you pushed him down onto the bed with a slow, fierce smile. Your hips settled onto his, straddling him, the heat between your bodies scorching through the thin fabric of your clothes. Like they were personally at fault for the fact that he wasn’t buried inside of you at the moment, you wiggled out of your shorts and cast them to the side.

Your next mission? To get Aki out of those damn sweatpants and into your guts.

Your hands slid down to the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling just a little as you pulled them down, slow and deliberate. The cool air kissed the skin it revealed, sending goosebumps racing along his hips. That pretty dick of his bounced free, hard as hell and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.

Without hesitation, you shifted forward, pressing your warmth against it, grinding slowly at first, testing the reaction. Then, once you looked down at him and saw the need in his eyes, you lined up with him and sank the rest of the way down

His breath hitched on a moan – a low, ragged sound that vibrated through your chest – and you felt it in your own throat.

“God,” he hissed.

“Fucking hell,” You gasped out, reveling in the feeling of him splitting you open from this angle.

Your movements grew bolder, more urgent, hips rolling with more intent as the heat between you flared higher. You braced your hands on his chest, fucking back onto his dick over and over again like you were on a fucking mission. You could hear the soft, desperate noises slipping past your lips, the rough sound of his breathing quickening.

God, I missed this.

You were both flushed, your skin slick with heat, breaths uneven and voices tangled in quiet need. Your heart pounded like a drum in your ears, the air thick with tension that wrapped around you both like a second skin. Every time he bottomed out inside of you, your nerves burned so deliciously that you couldn’t help but moan, whine, cry out for him like you didn’t have neighbors.

He shifted beneath you, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you, steady you. In tandem, you shifted your weight onto the balls of your feet, adjusting your hands on his chest to give you enough leverage to start bouncing a little harder, pressing your body flush to his, feeling the tight coil of desire building between you. You could feel how much he wanted you – not just the wild hunger in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, and the tremble in his breath, but in the way he fucking throbbed inside of you, filling you out like you were molded to the shape of him.

Your moans mingled, quiet and needy, filling the space between you like a secret language only you two understood.

Aki’s eyes were still on you, wild and storm-colored, lashes low and damp from the heat of the moment. His hair was a mess, falling into his boyish face in loose strands, some of it clinging to his cheek, others caught behind his ear.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, not even if you tried. Not from the way he looked at you. Not from the way his hands settled at your hips.

And God, the way he exhaled. A sound so low and shaky you felt it in your throat.

“You look good on top of me,” He noted with a hum.

"You're… ridiculous," you murmured, but there was no venom behind it. Just breathlessness.

"Yeah?" His voice was raspy, fingers twitching slightly on your hips. “You look like you’re about to pass out and still won’t slow down.”

"I can't," you admitted. “Feels too good.”

His hands shifted, gliding from your hips to your thighs, squeezing once – slow and grounding – and you shivered. Every inch of your skin was alive, electric with how close you were. How warm his abs felt under you, how his every breath moved you with it. His sweatpants had ridden low on his hips, just enough for you to be able to fuck him without wasting time on getting them off.

You moved again, faster this time. Testing. Letting the friction build in small, incremental waves. And when your breath hitched, he breathed out a curse, gripping your thighs just a little tighter.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So desperate for it. You’re squeezing me, Baby.”

You rolled your hips again in response, slow, deliberate. “Like you’re any better,” you whispered.

His hands slid up to your waist again, holding you steady now as your rhythm faltered from how sensitive you’d become. You tried to say something smart, something teasing, but all that came out was a stuttering moan when he guided your hips up, down, up, down.

“Doing so good for me,” he said softly, just beneath his breath, like he couldn’t fucking believe it. “Shit, this pussy was made for me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, half-choked by the way your legs were starting to tremble. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“Why?” He hummed, the sound of it low and amused, but warm. “You gonna fall apart on me again?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

You were too busy fucking his brains out.

Everything was getting fuzzy. Your hands slid up his chest, over the curve of his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him. Your body moved without thought now, chasing the high, chasing the warmth of his voice and the press of his fingers and the way he let you use him without question.

You were wetter than you had been moments ago. In fact, every time you bounced up and down, the most sinful sounds came from your bodies – squelching, moaning, fucking.

And Aki looked like he was about to break.

He watched your mouth fall open. Watched your lashes flutter. Watched your head tip back and your fingers clench and your rhythm stutter. You clenched down around him like you would die if he slipped out, even for a moment.

“Come here,” he whispered, sitting up just enough to press his forehead to yours.

You let your arms wrap around him, forehead pressed back to his. Your nose brushed his, your breaths tangled, and he held you like you were something fragile again. Like this wasn’t just a release, but something more. Something heavier.

And when your thighs finally started to give out—when your body gave that last little twitch of exhaustion—he didn’t hesitate.

He caught you. Picked you up. Shifted you back without a word and guided you against him, moving you in his lap with an urgency that made your eyes sting.

You let him. And, somehow, he slid even deeper in.

“Oh my god,” You gasped out.

Let him take over, let him hold you, guide you, let him breathe your name in that low, reverent way that always turned your bones to ash.

You weren’t thinking straight. Not about the breakroom, not about the space you’d asked for. Not about how complicated everything had gotten between you.

Right now, there was only him.

Only Aki, fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

Only the warmth of his skin and the rasp of his voice and the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together you swore there was nothing left between you. Just tension. Just longing. Just heat.

And when he finally let go, when you felt the tremble of it in his body, the quiet gasps against your collarbone, the way he pulled you in closer.

You knew.

You could lie to yourself all you wanted about needing distance, about making clean breaks. But deep down, you were already his.

“Aki–” You cried out, fucking back onto his dick while he moved you up and down. “‘M gonna fucking cum.”

“I’ve got you,” Aki murmured, voice low and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around your back. One hand slid to your spine, fingers splayed there, grounding you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Your breath caught, staggered, stuck in your throat like a sob. You couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore.

A tremor ran through your limbs, and then you gasped, sharply, while the world tilted on axis. You came for the second time that night, and it was glorious. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, his chest, your thighs trembled, and you burst like a bubble on top of him.

You collapsed onto him a moment later.

Your chest pressed flush to his, your forehead landing clumsily against the curve of his neck. Your hands found his shoulders, warm and solid and shaking just slightly beneath your fingers, and clung there, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

But it was hard. Everything was spinning.

Your eyes fluttered open, catching his wild gaze. For a moment, everything slowed down. The tension, the chaos, the confusion all melted away, leaving just the two of you.

And then it hit you – like a spark igniting a fire you hadn’t dared admit before.

You realized, really fucking realized, just how deep this went.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you pressed your forehead to his neck. The words tumbled out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent, carried on the heat of the moment.

“I love you,” you gasped, voice breaking.

His breath hitched too, a sharp intake just as his body tensed beneath you. His fingers clenched at your back, and you felt the pulse of him deep inside of you as he finally came, sending shockwaves up your spine. He finished with the prettiest, most velvety moan you’d ever heard, eyes and head rolling back while he reached his peak, spilling heat into your guts.

He was breathing hard, too – quick, uneven exhales. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your thighs, the warmth of his skin, the steady drum of his heart.

Then, like he just processed what you’d said, he looked at you, “What?”

Your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. “I… I love you.”

There was a pause, long and heavy, but he didn’t say it back. You hadn’t expected him to.

But, fuck, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I…” He trailed off.

You lay on him after, your breath still shaky, the weight of your confession hanging in the quiet between you. Your fingers traced faint circles on his chest as you tried to steady yourself, as he pulled his pants back up over his hips.

Breathe.

“You don’t have to say it back, but…” you whispered. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He stayed silent for a moment.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you continued, voice soft but steady. “And… I think this has to be the last time. The last time we’re like this.”

“Okay,” he finally said, still sounding out of it.

“Okay?” Your voice cracked with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? After everything?”

“What more do you want me to say?” His voice was low, tired. “I can’t ask you to stay. It would be unfair.” He sighed deeply. “My heart can’t be in it. You deserve something better than that.”

You searched his face, desperate for something real. “Is it, though? Is your heart in it? Because one minute, you don’t give a shit, but the next, you’re asking to see me, telling me you care, that I’m your favorite girl. I think you’re bullshitting me.” Your voice broke, the ache coming to the surface. “I can’t keep doing this – the back and forth, the waiting. It’s messing with my head.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than I probably should. But this job… it doesn’t leave any room for that. Getting close like this – it’s dangerous. There’s no place for love in Public Safety,” He opened his eyes again, meeting your gaze with raw honesty. “Besides, you deserve more than half of me. I can’t… be what you need.”

He was breaking your fucking heart. The worst part? You couldn’t even hate him for it.

No, he was right.

There was no place for love in your line of work.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Aki. I need you to be real.” You searched his face, desperate to find some flicker of what you knew was there beneath the walls he put up. “It’s more than just Public Safety… You say you don’t feel anything, that you can’t. But the way you act– the way you look at me sometimes – tells me otherwise. Make up your fucking mind!”

He looked at you then, that usual armor faltering for just a second. He was at a loss for words, and for once, you saw the man beneath the surface – the one caught between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.

“I meant what I said,” You continued, “But, God, you’re such a fucking dick sometimes.”

“I told you from the start that this would be a bad idea,” He retorted, furrowing his brows. “Don’t act like you didn’t beg me to do it anyway– like you weren’t the one who begged me to come over here tonight. Yeah, maybe I’m a dick, but you’re just as guilty as I am.”

The sting of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, the accusation wrapped in truth. You had pushed, pressed, begged for moments like this even though the consequences loomed large. You’d been the one to open the door, to invite chaos in, and now it was crashing down around you.

You couldn’t even blame him.

You felt the ache settle deep inside – the hurt of being called out but also the frustration of the tangled mess you both had created.

He sighed, the fight draining from him. The tension in his shoulders softened, his voice dropping to something quieter, almost remorseful. “That was mean. I’m sorry. Look, I think we should talk–”

Your heart hammered in your chest, raw and aching, but your voice was firm, trembling with the weight of everything you couldn’t say aloud. “I don’t want to talk.”

“But, I–”

“I think you should leave,” you cut him off, the anger simmering just beneath your words. “You were right. This won’t work.”

“Maybe I should,” he said back, voice low, heavy with a weight you could almost see pressing down on him. He looked as if he was about to say something else, something that could change everything, but the words got stuck, lost somewhere between his heart and his mind. Instead, he simply looked at you, conflicted, torn.

He slid out of bed slowly, like he was trying to avoid the inevitable.

He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, the fabric slipping over his skin like a barrier between the two of you. You watched him, your chest tightening, every second feeling like you were fucking dying inside.

He paused by the door, turning to face you one last time. His eyes were dark and serious, but there was something softer there too – regret, perhaps.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered quietly, the apology so heavy it seemed to fill the room with silence.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but it echoed through your chest, louder than anything else had ever been before. You sat there frozen for a moment, the quiet swallowing you whole.

And then the dam broke.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, sliding down your cheeks, burning your skin. Your whole body shook as you sank into the mattress, overwhelmed by the weight of everything – the love you couldn’t hold, the future you’d lost, the man you wanted so desperately but couldn’t keep.

You cried until there was nothing left but the memory of his face – dejected, words on the tip of his tongue – when you had sent him away.

Had he been about to say it back? You thought. No, don’t be ridiculous.

You slapped the pillow over your face, groaning into it.

If I’m doing the right thing, then why does it feel so wrong?

All you knew was that you'd sent him away, and it felt like you'd just fired a gun through your chest.

a/n: how are yall? im sorry lol. as i said over on tumblr, we're going to see more glimpses into aki's mind as the story progresses to its conclusion. will that be a good thing? stay tuned ;) as always, feel free to say hi or drop a comment telling me what you thought (if you hate me, thats okay too, feel free to let it out. this is a safe space lMKFAOAOAO). love you all!! x (dont worry, i'll do some damage control. trust the process.)

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#prnstar •#are they lovers? worse #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut #aki fluff

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momo-kageyama · 2 days ago

Text

Under Temptation

—————————————————————————

Anime: KPop Demon Hunters

—————————————————————————

Male version of Zoey x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

Zane, the sweet and energetic rapper, being flirted and seduced by Y/N, a bold demon who lives in the human world. The dynamics between them is loaded with tension, charm and attraction growing like a fire that devours.

Zane, sweet, shy and talented, is constantly provoked by Y/N, a bold and charming demon who lives in the human world.

She loves to see him blow with his flirts and cheeky whispers, while he tries to stay calm - and fails beautifully.

Even with all the seduction, the two develop a deep connection, full of laughter, long hugs, shy kisses and silent affection.

Deep down, they complement each other: she brings the fire, he brings the calm. And together, they build something between passion and real affection.

—————————————————————————

—Between stage lights and whispers backstage, the game of seduction begins silent - until it becomes irresistible.

⸻

Huntrix's premiere night was at its peak. Illuminated stage, fans in frenzy, lights and cameras... But behind the scenes, away from the eyes, the tension was different.

Y/N, the bold demon with a sharp mind, watched Zane from afar. He was focused, reviewing lyrics and warming his voice, dressed in stylish clothes and a shy smile on his lips. She already knew him - sensitive, kind, brilliant - and now she wanted to provoke him in a way that was impossible to ignore.

She approached with light steps, almost floating in the air loaded with expectations. Zane looked up, surprised to see her so close.

- What's up, rapper? Heating the stage for me? - she whispered, that sweet voice, with provocation.

He redd. - Ah... Y/N. What are you doing here?

She hung his coat on her shoulders - a simple gesture, but made with a calculated proximity.

- Enjoying the company before you make everyone delirious on stage. - his eyes shone with gentle malice. - It can be dangerous to be near you today.

Zane stared at her. - Dangerous how?

And she leaned over, so close that he felt the subtle warmth coming from her.

- Dangerous... for you - he murmured, touching his chest with his index finger. - I'll drive you crazy. And I've already seen you hot...

He swallowed hard. The subtle kick of insecurity and excitement shot in the chest.

She smiled with cruel sweetness. - Sometimes it's good to lose control.

Her fingers touched his cheek, so soft that they seemed ethereal. Meanwhile, the other Huntrix members began to get together to go on stage.

- Everything will be fine - she breathed, putting her hand on his abdomen. - But when it's all over... I want you.

Zane stood still, eyes shining between shyness and provocation. She walked away, but not without first pulling the habit of his silver chain - a jewel he always wore - and wrapping it in his fingers with a seductive smile.

- Don't forget - she said softly, almost an internal shock.

She turned around and disappeared, like an extinguished flame but warming the air around.

——————

—On stage

Zane emerged like lightning: rhythmic verses, presence, explosive rhythm. But half of the strength came from that subtle touch, of knowing that she was there, ready to wait for him.

Every smile, every look behind the scenes was a veiled invitation.

Through the stage, he flew. But inside, it was on fire.

—————

—After the show

Behind the scenes, the environment was boiling: applause, vibration, adrenaline - but there was something more, warmer, suffocated, intimate.

Zane passed by her without looking. Y/N let go of his jacket and gently grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him facing her.

She leaned to his lips boldly:

- Come with me. We have a reserved seat.

He hesitated, his body accelerated. - Now?

- Now. - she smiled, fingers intertwining on his shirt. - In the dressing room, between sheets and bronze.

They barely touched each other on the first night, but now it was almost inevitable.

——————

—In the secret dressing room

Closed door. Diffused light. Soft music in the background.

Y/N leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed, watching Zane approach, heart racing - unlike the stage, this moment was only theirs.

He turned around, eyes fixed. - I wanted to wait... but I can't.

She laughed, getting on tiptoe to touch her lip to his ear:

- I like that. To make you lose the ground.

She ran her fingers around his neck, pulled the necklace she herself had taken off before the stage.

- Do you want him back?

He entered the game. - I want to.

I approached her, they touched gently.

- So, show me.

And they gave themselves in a quiet, urgent kiss.

The touch of the skin, the breaths fitting, the sighs tearing the silence.

They didn't talk. They only felt. The connection was as electric as the stage display, only more intense - among them, in that room that existed only for them.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, her lips went down his neck. He pushed his coat to the side, slid his hands on her waist, and she tilted - both hungry for proximity.

It was a new beginning. An encounter that exploded with desire, with affection and with everything that could happen when two different worlds meet - demon and human, music and seduction - and decide to lose themselves in each other.

—————————

There was no more stage. Not even masks. Just two bodies dancing in silence until the end of the breath.

⸻

The dressing room lights were dimmed, tinging the room a warm amber tone, like the last ray of sun trapped behind the skin.

Zane kissed her with more courage now.

There was no more hesitation.

I just wish. Hunger. Her.

Y/N fit perfectly in his arms.

Small, bold, hot.

Her touch was sharp, sweet and fierce at the same time.

The light nails scratched the back of his neck - and he moaned low, surprised by the delivery itself.

- Do you like to lose control, Zane? - she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, sending goosebumps down her spine.

He held her waist, squeezing hard, his hip already glued to hers.

- Only with you.

She laughed softly - provocative.

He pushed him until his back touched the dressing room wall.

There, between blurry mirrors and muffled echoes, the bodies began to talk in a mute tongue, made only of heat.

Zane slid his hands under her blouse, slowly, like someone who discovers something precious.

Y/N arched his back, moaning softly.

She pulled his shirt, and he obeyed - the fabric fell to the floor without ceremony.

His eyes burned. It wasn't just the sweet Zane anymore.

It was the man on fire.

She slid her lips down her neck, chest, going down on trails that chilled everything they touched.

Zane held his breath, his muscles contracted.

- You taste like music and danger - she murmured, her mouth too close to where he most wanted.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her on his lap with ease.

Y/N intertwined her legs around him, feeling the firm volume between the clothes.

She moaned against his lips, bit the bottom and pulled slowly, making him growl.

Zane walked to the dressing room bench, sat her there, eye to eye.

- I dreamed about it.

- And now it's real - she replied. - Touch me. As if I were only yours.

And he did.

His hands opened the buttons, lowered fabrics, revealed skin.

She was hot, pulsating, surrendered.

When he slid his fingers through her, wet, ready, her body reacted as if it had waited for him all her life.

Y/N moaned loudly - muffled against his mouth.

Zane pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers working with slow and sensual precision.

She squirmed, gasped, held his shoulders as if with each movement the world collapsed.

When he finally penetrated her - strong, deep, whole - the two were motionless for a second, their eyes closed, bodies vibrating.

There, everything made sense.

The movements started slowly.

Then more rhythmic.

Then spiked, like beats of a rap that only the two knew.

- You're my addiction - he whispered against her neck.

- Then consume me - she gasped, scratching his back.

The feeling grew, burned, invaded.

Muffled moans against trembling mouths.

Hips clashing, breaths in sync.

When she reached the apex, it was with a scream muffled by his chest - the muscles retight, the eyes clenched, the mouth ajar.

He came soon after, moaning her name with a hoarse voice, his body shaking against hers, his forehead resting on the curve of his shoulder.

⸻

And then, just silence.

A comfortable silence.

Zane ran his fingers through her hair.

Y/N kissed his shoulder with affection, still panting, his eyes closed.

- That was more than sex - he said.

- What was it?

- It was like... music.

- Then play again - she whispered, smiling lazily.

And he smiled too.

Because I knew: with her, every note would be new.

—————————————————————————

She knew where to play. And where to look. And what to say to disarm even the sweetest of hunters.

⸻

Zane fixed his T-shirt, still a little stunned after the previous night - skin marked by kisses, memory marked by moans and promises whispered between sighs.

But it was Y/N who appeared first, that same morning, as if the world was too small to contain her pleasure in provoking.

She leaned against the dressing room door, arms crossed, a crooked smile on her lips.

- Good morning, shy rapper. Did you sleep well... after yesterday?

Zane, who was drinking water, choked on the spot.

- And-I... I slept yes - he replied, brushing. - You... disappeared in the morning.

She approached slowly, feline steps.

The black dress stuck to the body as a living provocation.

She leaned over, with her face dangerously close.

- I thought it was better to leave before you woke up saying that "I didn't know what to say"... - he whispered, caressing his neck with his nails. - Or that he was too bloshed to face me.

He smiled sideways, trying to look away.

- I don't get that red...

- Oh, no? - she touched her hip to his, moving her hand up her belly, up to her chest. - So why did your breathing change just with my touch?

Zane locked his jaw, trying to look unshakable - and failing beautifully.

She nibbled on her lower lip, her eyes fixed on his.

- You look so cute when you try to maintain your posture... - she whispered. - But I know your head is already there in what we did yesterday. Or in what you want to do now.

He held her wrist, firm, but without strength.

The hand trembled.

- Y/N... - he tried.

But she glued her body to his, got on tiptoe and whispered right in her ear:

- Did you think about me this morning? Did you touch thinking about me?

Zane buried his face in her neck and let out a nervous laugh.

- You're going to kill me like this.

She ran her hand through his hair.

- I promise it's a hot ending.

He pulled her hard closer, his eyes now burning.

- You love to make me nervous...

- I live for that - she replied, sliding her fingers to his waist.

They stared at each other for seconds.

The game already had a winner - her.

But he didn't care about losing.

Not with her.

He leaned her against the wall, his heart racing.

- Do you want to know? You make me shy, yes.

- I know - she smiled.

- But you also drive me crazy.

- Show it, then - she challenged.

And he showed it.

With the mouth. With your hands. With the hunger.

—————————————————————————

She provoked. He was ressing. And in the middle of the sweet mess of the two... something was born that not even the two of them could hide anymore.

⸻

It was late afternoon at the studio. The rehearsals had ended, the rest of the group had already left, and Zane was alone, sitting on the floor, fiddling with the headphones, with the sweatshirt two numbers bigger and messy hair.

Y/N appeared at the door with a box of strawberries covered in chocolate and a smile from someone who already had bad intentions.

Or too good, depending on the point of view.

- I brought something to sweeten this tired little face - he said, approaching and throwing himself on the floor next to him, as if the whole world was soft.

Zane raised his eyes. He red. Again.

It was always like that with her.

It didn't matter how much they had already touched, kissed or slept together - Y/N could still make his stomach turn with just one look.

- I thought you were already too sweet - he replied, a little short, already smiling.

She laughed. He took a strawberry and touched his lips with the fruit.

- You say these things and then you want to pretend you don't turn red...

Zane looked away, trying to disguise with a shy smile.

- I'm not red.

- You're like a cartoon tomato, love.

She approached slowly, with her cheek sticking to his.

He sighed deeply. His heart always accelerated when she touched like that, calm, light, too close.

- I love it when you get all shy - she whispered in his ear.

- And I love it when you stop talking just to hug me - he replied, with a brave smile this time.

She widened her eyes, pretending to be surprised.

- Wow. The shy one faced me.

- Once in a lifetime - he said, and pulled her into a side hug.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

The silence came soft, like low music.

The two stayed there, sharing chocolate, sharing the space, sharing the silence.

Until she asked softly:

- You know that, even making fun of you, I really like you, right?

He turned his face.

He kissed her forehead.

And he replied:

- I know.

And I like you too. Even though you are... impossible.

- Impossible irresistible? - she blinked.

Zane laughed.

- Yes. That too.

She smiled.

He was silent for a second... and then hid his face in her neck, muttering:

- Just don't tell others that I like it when you provoke me, okay?

- Too late. I recorded it in memory.

And they were like this: a long hug, sweet strawberries and two hearts that understood each other even when they didn't say everything.

—————————————————————————

#anime and manga #anime fanart #anime gif #fat anime #anime #anime art #kpop demon hunters #zoey #kpop #rapper #idol #anime x reader #x reader #kpop x reader #kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader

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jungkoode · 4 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 10

˗ˏˋ slow dancing ˎˊ˗

"Late night melodies have a way of slipping past your defenses. And maybe that's why he chose 2AM to show you a side of him you weren't supposed to see."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 4.5k

content: electric guitar discussions, griffin being a crackhead like his dad, tiny moments, late night melodies, comfortable silence

✧ author's note ✧

FIRST OF ALL! I CREATED A PLAYLIST OF SONGS FMU!JUNGKOOK PLAYS ON HIS ELECTRIC GUITAR to make him feel more human and lived in. Go check it out! You can play it whenever he’s playing the guitar.

Hello everyone! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ Currently writing this from the past since I'm scheduled to be stuffing my face with gyros in Greece right now. Which, honestly? Living my best tourist life with my partner. (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

I know I said chapter 10 might be delayed because of the trip BUT Wednesday night hit different and suddenly my brain went feral. You know how it is - either write nothing for weeks or channel an entire novel in one sitting. There is no in-between. (；一_一)

Here's the thing about this chapter though - I'm actually proud of it? Which never happens, so cherish this moment. It's finally time to plant some seeds (about time, right?). ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

Listen, I know I'm absolutely unhinged about slow burn. Like, genuinely concerning levels of commitment to dragging out emotional development. I kept second-guessing if 50k words in was too early for their first Moment™, but you know what? They deserve this tiny crumb of softness. (`･ω･´)

Before you get too excited - remember who's writing this. Your resident slow burn demon. What I consider a huge development, you'll probably read and go "... that's it?" (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But I promise, if you pay attention to the vibes, there's something special here.

Quick question! I've sprinkled about three of Jungkook's trauma events throughout the story so far. Any theories? Some of you perceptive souls (looking at you, Koopsy) have probably figured them out, but I'm curious what everyone else thinks! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

See you next weekend! Mwah!

P.S. Written at 5AM running on spite and caffeine. If you spot typos, no you didn't. (￣▽￣*)ゞ

I am sorry but listening to THIS on the second part is MANDATORY. It’s the song Jungkook’s playing. So, you better listen to it or I’ll get mad and stop breathing and there will be no more fuck me up for you bitches. 😤😤😤

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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Your hair's a fucking mess and it's all his fault.

You tug at your oversized pajama shirt as you emerge from your room, trying to look less... well. Less like you just had your roommate's tongue down your throat.

The living room's exactly as you left it, except now Jungkook's manspreading in the armchair like he owns it, arguing with Yeji about—wait, what?

"—can't seriously think the Stratocaster is better for metal," he's saying, gesturing with those stupidly nice hands of his. "The humbucker pickups alone—"

"The clarity though?" Yeji cuts in, looking personally offended. You've seen that look before—usually right before she launches into a thirty-minute rant about music theory. "You get way better note definition with single coils, especially for complex riffs—"

"Yeah, if you want it to sound like a tin can—"

"Excuse me?"

God. Two guitar nerds in one room. This is literally your worst nightmare.

Irya's sitting between them on the couch looking thoroughly entertained, phone in hand. "Jimin!" she calls out suddenly. "Check the one I just sent you!"

Jimin glances up from his own phone, that soft smile playing on his lips. He's claimed the other end of the couch, as far from the guitar debate as possible. Smart man.

The doorbell rings, and before you can even think about moving, Jungkook launches himself out of the armchair like an overcaffeinated jackrabbit.

"I got it!" He's already halfway to the door, and you roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck.

"Whatever." You grab one of the bean bags from near the big window, dragging it to the other side of the coffee table. As far from the armchair as possible, because you know exactly where he's going to sit when he gets back.

"Just saying," Yeji continues like the pizza interruption never happened, "if you're going to shit-talk Fender, at least have a decent argument."

"Oh, I've got arguments." You can hear Jungkook fumbling with his wallet at the door. "Want me to grab my guitar? I can demonstrate—"

"Please, god, no," you mutter, dropping onto the bean bag. The last thing you need is an impromptu concert from either of them.

"Pizzaaaa," he announces, kicking the door shut behind him. He's somehow managing to balance four boxes, and you definitely don't notice the way his arms flex under the weight. "Who's hungry?"

You end up sharing your calabrese with Jimin because he's literally the only person in this room with taste. Plus, watching him take small, careful bites makes you feel better about the way you just inhaled your first slice like some kind of starved animal.

Everyone else claimed their own pizza—Yeji's practically mainlining her extra spicy diavola, Irya's defending her hawaiian from Yeji's judgmental looks, and Jungkook...

God. Jungkook.

He's sprawled in that armchair like it's a throne, one leg thrown over the armrest, decimating his meat lovers' like he's getting paid for it. And it's annoying. Everything about him is annoying. The way he tears into the crust with those stupidly white teeth. The way his throat works when he swallows. The little appreciative sounds he makes that are way too similar to—nope.

Not going there.

"Want some?" He catches you staring and holds out a slice, cheese stretching obscenely. "Since you keep looking over here."

"I'm not—" You break off as a string of cheese snaps. "I was judging your eating habits."

"Uh-huh." He takes another bite, and you hate that you notice the way his lips curve. "Sure, phoenix."

"Fuck off."

"Make me."

Yeji makes a gagging sound. "Do you two ever stop?"

No. You don't. That's the problem. Whether it's fighting or fucking or whatever the hell happened in your room twenty minutes ago, you just... don't stop. Can't stop. Won't stop.

And maybe that should worry you more than it does.

"Pass me a napkin?" Jimin asks quietly, and you grab one gratefully. Away from thoughts of Jungkook's mouth and what it was doing to you earlier and—focus. Pizza. Friends. Normal things that don't involve your roommate's tongue.

Except he's right there, existing in your peripheral vision like some kind of extremely annoying sun. Being all... present. With his hair still messed up from your hands and that mark on his neck that your friends definitely haven't noticed but you know is there and—

"Phoenix." His voice cuts through your spiral. "You're staring again."

"I'm plotting your murder."

He grins, slow and knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He's still chewing. Like, unnecessarily loud? Who taught this man table manners, a pack of wolves?

You watch him demolish another slice with the same energy your mom attacks Facebook conspiracy theories. It's giving feral raccoon energy. No, worse—it's giving mukbang YouTuber who's about to get canceled for something weird. The way he's manspreading in that chair like he's about to start a podcast about cryptocurrency—

And then you see it. Griffin, the little menace, has somehow gotten onto the coffee table (again) and he's sniffing at—fuck, is that garlic bread?

You're out of the bean bag before you can think, nearly falling on your face in your haste. "Griffin, no—"

But Jungkook's already moving too, pizza forgotten, practically launching himself out of the chair. "G, don't—"

You snatch Griffin away from the bread just as Jungkook reaches for him, and for a second you're both frozen there—you with an armful of disgruntled cat, him with his hands outstretched and something raw and panicked in his eyes that makes your chest tight.

"He can't have garlic," you explain, which is stupid because obviously Jungkook knows this, it's his cat. "It's toxic for—"

"Yeah." His voice is rough. He swallows, hands falling to his sides. "Yeah, I know."

The silence stretches for a beat too long.

Something's off about his reaction—it's just bread, right?

But there's tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that wasn't there before.

"He's got this thing about human food," he says finally, aiming for casual but missing by a mile. His laugh sounds hollow. "Always goes for the stuff that'll fuck him up."

You raise an eyebrow, absently scratching under Griffin's chin. "What, like a death wish?"

"More like bad judgment." He reaches for Griffin, and you notice his hands aren't quite steady. "Likes the wrong stuff. Just like his dad. Don't you, buddy?"

Griffin just purrs, completely unbothered by all the drama he just caused. Jungkook checks him over anyway, like he might have somehow eaten the entire loaf in the two seconds you weren't looking.

"Devil cat," you mutter, but you find yourself reaching out to scratch Griffin's ears anyway. "Always trying to unalive himself with human food."

Jungkook's quiet for a moment, just watching you pet Griffin.

Then, so soft you almost miss it: "Thanks."

You blink. "For what?"

"For—" He cuts himself off, nonchalance sliding back into place. "For not letting him add 'bread thief' to his criminal record."

But there's something in his voice, in the way his fingers keep checking Griffin like he needs to make sure he's still there—

"Yo," Yeji cuts in, "can someone please explain to my girlfriend why pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity?"

"It's not a crime," Irya's saying, waving her slice of hawaiian like a weapon. "It's culinary innovation."

"It's fruit on pizza." Yeji looks personally wounded. "That's like putting ketchup in coffee."

"Don't give him ideas," you mutter, watching Jungkook from the corner of your eye. He's settled back in the armchair with Griffin, but something's... off. The casual sprawl looks forced now, mechanical. His phone's out, thumb scrolling without really seeing.

Weird.

"Some people actually do that," Jimin offers quietly. "The ketchup thing."

"Those people need therapy." Yeji steals a piece of pineapple off Irya's slice, examining it like it's evidence in a crime scene. "Like, immediately."

You should probably join in. Make some quip about food crimes or Yeji's weird vendetta against fruit. But you keep getting distracted by the way Jungkook's shoulders are still tight, how his other hand hasn't stopped checking Griffin. Like he needs to make sure he's still there.

Doesn't make sense. He was fine ten minutes ago, being all loud and annoying about guitars. What changed?

"Speaking of crimes against humanity—" Irya starts.

"We are not discussing the mint chocolate incident again."

"It was one time!"

Griffin shifts in Jungkook's lap, and you catch the slight flinch in his fingers. The way his eyes snap to check what the cat's doing. It's so different from his usual careless energy, from the way he usually lets Griffin do whatever the fuck he wants.

"Phoenix." His voice makes you jump. Caught staring. Fuck. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

The words are right—that usual cocky bullshit—but the delivery's wrong. Flat. Like he's reading from a script of himself.

"What, and boost your ego more?" Keep it casual. Normal. Whatever's happening, he clearly doesn't want to talk about it. "Pretty sure that's like, directly against the Geneva Convention."

He tries for a smirk, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Didn't know you were so concerned about war crimes."

"Only the ones happening in my living room."

A ghost of his usual grin, there and gone. Then he's back to his phone, shoulders a hard line under his t-shirt. You watch him tap the screen exactly four times, precise and measured. Since when does he do anything precise?

"Y/N?" Jimin touches your arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just..." You gesture vaguely at your half-eaten slice. "Food coma."

But you keep watching. Can't help it. The way his jaw clenches every few seconds. How he's barely touched his pizza since the Griffin thing. The slight tremor in his fingers when he scratches behind the cat's ears.

He just... trusts the wrong people sometimes, you know?

What the fuck was that about?

"Earth to Y/N!" Yeji's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Back me up here. Pineapple on pizza—yes or no?"

"What? Oh, uh." You force yourself to look away from Jungkook. "Definitely no."

"Thank you!"

"Traitor," Irya accuses, but she's grinning. "I trusted you."

Trust. There's that word again. You glance back at Jungkook, but he's not even pretending to listen anymore. Just staring at his phone, one hand buried in Griffin's fur like an anchor.

Something happened here. Something you're missing. But the more you try to piece it together, the less sense it makes. It's just bread, right? Just Griffin being his usual chaos gremlin self. So why does Jungkook look like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop?

"Hey." Jimin's voice is soft. Private. "Sure you're okay?"

No. Yes. Maybe. You don't know why you're so fixated on this, why you can't just let it go. It's not like you care. It's not like—

"I'm fine." You reach for another slice. "Just tired."

But you can't quite shake the image of his face when you caught Griffin. That raw panic, like he was seeing something else entirely. Someone else.

“Alright I’m so done with this. We are watching Love Island.” Yeji jumps in.

“Since when do you like reality shows?” Jimin asks, smiling.

“Since, uh, never.” She replies, defensively. “I just like seeing stupid people doing stupid shit.”

And that’s how you end up watching Love Island reruns, because apparently that's what your life has devolved into. Jungkook disappeared to his room twenty minutes ago, taking Griffin and his weird mood with him, and you're trying very hard not to think about either of them.

You're failing spectacularly, but whatever.

"You good?" Yeji nudges you with her foot. "You've been weird since the whole bread thing."

"M'fine." You bat her foot away. "Just tired."

She gives you that look, the one that says she knows you're full of shit, but before she can call you out on it, the front door opens.

Yoongi trudges in looking like he's been through seven circles of hell and maybe a Walmart on Black Friday. His beanie's askew, dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual—classic post-studio energy. He stops dead when he sees your little gathering, letting out the longest, most defeated sigh you've ever heard.

Then he takes off his beanie, hanging his keys, and—

"You're fucking joking."

Yeji practically launches herself off the couch, dislodging Irya from where she was curled into her shoulder. What the—

Yoongi freezes. Turns. Very. Slowly.

"........."

"Mint????" Yeji's voice hits a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "What the actual fuck?"

Yoongi closes his eyes like he's praying for strength. "Please god, no."

Hold up.

You look between them—Yeji vibrating with chaotic energy, Yoongi looking like he wants to evaporate on the spot. Since when does your anti-establishment new possibly best friend know your lowkey famous producer roommate?

"Wait." You sit up straighter. "You know Yoongi?"

"Know him?" Yeji's still staring at Yoongi like he's either Jesus or a sleep-deprived hallucination. "He produced my track six months ago and then ghosted everyone like—"

"I didn't ghost." He dumps his bag on the counter with maybe more force than necessary. "I was working."

"For six months?"

"Yes."

You regard both of them slowly. Because yeah, you knew Yoongi was Mint—Hoseok had dropped that bomb like it wasn't a whole thing. But Yeji? Your anarchist, fight-the-system best friend worked with him?

"Hold up." Irya's sitting up now too, eyes wide. "You're telling me this is the guy? The one who made that track that almost got you banned from three venues?"

"It was one track." Yoongi's already heading for his room, clearly done with this conversation. "Six months ago."

"It was fire though!" Yeji calls after him. "Could've been more if you hadn't—"

The door closes with a very pointed click.

"Well." Irya breaks the silence. "That was fun."

Another door opens and Jungkook peers out, probably drawn by all the noise. "Was that Yoongi? What's with all the—"

"Did you know Yeji worked with him?" you demand, because apparently this is your life now. Finding out your friend and your roommate have secret music history.

He blinks. "With who?"

"Our roommate? Mint PD? Ring any bells in that empty head of yours?"

"Oh." He shrugs, leaning against his doorframe. "Yeah, but I didn't know it was your Yeji."

"She's not my—wait." You narrow your eyes. "How many Yejis do you know?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, phoenix?"

"It’s not like Yeji is a super common name in New York."

His grin is insufferable. "Sure about that?"

"God, do you ever shut up?"

"Only when I'm sleeping." He stretches, all casual arrogance. "Sometimes not even then."

"Gross." You turn to your friends. "You guys don't have to leave just because he's being... himself."

But Yeji's already getting up, collecting their stuff. "Nah, it's late. Plus, I need to process the whole Mint thing. That was weird as fuck."

"Text me the story later?" Irya asks, helping gather the pizza boxes. "I want to know everything about this track that got you banned."

"It wasn't banned," Yeji protests. "Just... strongly discouraged from ever being played again."

Jimin helps clean because he's literally an angel walking among mere mortals. You walk them to the door, hyperaware of Jungkook still hovering in his doorway like the creep he is.

"Text me," Yeji mutters as she hugs you goodbye.

The door closes behind them. When you turn around, Jungkook's gone, door clicking shut like he was never there.

Typical.

You stare at his closed door for a moment, thinking about garlic bread and panic and things that don't make sense.

Whatever. Not your problem.

You're going to commit a murder tonight.

Your friends left hours ago, and you've been trying to wind down—reading, scrolling through TikTok, attempting to be a functional human being who sleeps before their 8AM class. But someone apparently decided 2AM was the perfect time to practice his goddamn electric guitar.

The electric guitar riffs pierce through your wall for the hundredth time, each note a personal attack on your sanity.

Who the fuck plays at 2AM? Who? What kind of sociopath—

Another chord progression. Louder this time.

You grab your pillow, smothering a scream into it as your nails dig into the fabric. Eight AM class tomorrow. Eight. Fucking. AM. And this absolute waste of oxygen is out there having his main character moment like he's the star of some teen angst movie.

Fuck him. Actually fuck him. And fuck past you for fucking him in the first place. Yeah, okay, he's hot. Fine. But does that really balance out this? The constant noise and the attitude and the way he acts like the whole world revolves around him?

The guitar gets louder, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Pain in the ass doesn't even cover it. Pain in places that don't have medical names yet. Pain in the fucking soul.

You snatch your phone off the nightstand, fingers flying over the keyboard:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝟾𝚊𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 🖕🏻

The guitar stops. Thank god. Thank every possible—

A low chuckle filters through the wall.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞

Your blood pressure spikes.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚜𝚝𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚗 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑

A pause. Then:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

You actually growl.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚏𝚌 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝟷𝟸??

Another chord rings out. Deliberately slow. Testing.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚗?

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛? You: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢?

The guitar stops. Complete silence. Maybe you went too far, bringing up—

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒 𝚊𝚖

Your heart definitely doesn't skip. Absolutely does not.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛? 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍

You stare at your phone. At the wall separating your rooms. At your reflection in the dark window, hair a mess and eyes too bright.

This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚑 𝚑𝚞𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍

Fuck.

Your feet hit the floor before you can think better of it. And isn't that just the whole problem? You never think better of it. Not with him.

So yeah, you make it to his room. Where the devil sleeps.

Your eyes sweep over his walls, taking in all the black and red and—yep, exactly what you expected. Some alt-boy Pinterest board threw up in here. Black wooden bed with those lumberjack pattern sheets, gaming setup that probably cost more than your tuition, wardrobe that's definitely hiding at least three identical black hoodies.

No windows. Makes sense. Vampires and all that.

He's sprawled on the bed like some renaissance painting gone wrong, all long limbs and messy hair like he's been rolling around like a dog marking its territory. The guitar sits easy in his lap, familiar. Natural.

Not that you notice. Or care.

His eyes flick to you, that insufferable smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He doesn't stop playing, just watches as you hover in his doorway like—nope. Not finishing that thought.

"Didn't think you'd actually come."

"Didn't think you'd actually know how to play." You step into his space, ignoring how the air feels different in here. Heavier. "Yet here we are, disappointing each other."

He snorts, fingers still moving over the strings. Something slower now, almost melodic. "Always so sweet, phoenix."

"Always so annoying, rogue."

But you find yourself moving closer, drawn by the way the notes fill the space between you. It's... not terrible. Actually kind of good, if you're being honest. Which you're not. Obviously.

"What?" He catches you watching his hands. "Surprised I can do something besides annoy you?"

"Mostly surprised you can do anything besides game and be a pain in my ass."

His grin turns wicked. "Pretty sure I do more than that to your—"

"Finish that sentence and die."

He laughs, low and warm, but goes back to playing. Something different now. Softer. You hate that you want to ask what it is.

"Didn't take you for a musician." The words slip out before you can stop them.

His fingers stutter on the strings. Just for a second, barely noticeable. But you notice.

"No?" His voice is carefully casual. Too casual. "What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Professional asshole? Chief Expert in Being Insufferable?" You comment, flicking a small plushie on his bed. "First Chair Fuck-Up?"

He huffs a laugh, but something's off about it. Like earlier with Griffin. That same weird tension.

"Used to play in a band," he says after a moment. Still not looking at you. "Back in high school."

"Let me guess—My Chemical Romance covers?"

"Nah." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Original stuff. Mostly."

You wait for more, but he just keeps playing. That same soft melody, over and over. Like he's trying to get it right. Or trying to forget something else.

"It's good."

The words surprise you both. His hands freeze on the strings, eyes snapping to yours.

"The song," you clarify, because apparently your mouth's just doing whatever it wants now. "It's... not horrible."

He stares at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression—that cocky mask slipping just slightly. Then:

"Want to hear the whole thing?"

And maybe it's the late hour. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you, all quiet uncertainty beneath that usual swagger. Maybe you're just fucking tired.

"Yeah." You slide down to sit on his floor, back against the bed. "Show me what you got, rogue."

He starts playing something different. Not that angry teenage angst from earlier—this is... softer. More careful. Like he's showing you something he doesn't usually let people see.

Not that you care. Obviously.

The melody wraps around the room, settling into the spaces between your breaths. Your eyes track his hands, the way his fingers move over the strings with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed. It's... nice. Which is annoying. Everything about him is annoying, including the way he makes this look so effortless, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates—

Wait.

You know this song.

The notes hit something in your chest—a memory you didn't know you still had.

Your mom's old radio, the one she kept in the garden.

This exact song came on while you were planting flame lilies along the back fence. Then the storm hit—one of those sudden summer downpours that turns the whole world grey.

But instead of running inside like a normal person, your mom just... laughed. Turned the radio up louder, John Mayer's voice competing with the thunder. Grabbed your hands, still covered in dirt, and pulled you into a clumsy dance right there in the rain.

We're slow dancing in a burning room...

You'd both ended up soaked, mud-splattered, spinning in circles while the rain poured down. She'd sung along, completely off-key but not caring. Just you and her and this song, the rest of the world washed away in the storm.

The memory feels wrong now. Too bright. Too clean. Like looking at an old photograph and realizing all the edges have been carefully trimmed, the shadows cropped out.

Because that was before, wasn't it? Before the schedules and the expectations and the constant, crushing weight of—

"Is that—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late. He glances up, catches you staring.

"What?"

You blink. Jungkook's watching you, hands paused on the strings.

"Nothing."

His fingers hover over the guitar. "No, what were you gonna say?"

"Just..." Fuck it. "Pretty sure that's 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.' Right?"

Something flickers across his face. "You know Mayer?"

"Unfortunately." You pick at a loose thread on your sleep shorts. "My playlist's not just WAP and Carpool Karaoke, contrary to what you probably think."

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds different. Less cocky asshole, more... something else. His fingers start moving again, picking up where he left off. The notes fill the silence between you, and it's... peaceful? Is that the word? No, that can't be right. Nothing about him is peaceful.

And yet.

"Do you sing too?"

His hands freeze on the strings. Just for a second, but you catch it. The way his shoulders tense, how his jaw ticks slightly before he forces that easy smile back.

"Nah." He starts playing again, but it's different now. Mechanical. "That's... that'd be embarrassing."

There's something in his voice. Something raw that makes you think of earlier, of his panic over Griffin and bread. But before you can chase that thought, he's already shifting gears.

"What, you offering voice lessons, phoenix?"

"As if." You roll your eyes, but you clock the way his fingers are slightly less sure on the strings now. "Just thought maybe you'd want to torture me with your whole package of terrible talents."

"Oh, I've got plenty of talents to torture you with."

"Gross."

But he's relaxing again, that weird tension leaving his shoulders as the conversation drifts back to familiar territory. Safe territory. He keeps playing, and you definitely don't notice how the melody gets smoother, more confident, like maybe he needed the distraction of your bickering to find his rhythm again.

Speaking of distractions—you glance around the room, frowning. "Where's Griffin?"

"Thought he was with you."

"What?" You blink at him. "You never let him sleep with anyone else."

"Well." He sets the guitar aside, stretches like some oversized cat. "You can now."

"I can... what?"

"Have him." He shrugs, but there's something careful in the movement. "For the night. If you want."

You stare at him. He stares back, that almost-smile still playing at his lips.

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

"Who are you and what have you done with my asshole roommate?"

He laughs, and just like that, the weird tension breaks. "Aw, you think I'm yours? That's cute, phoenix."

"I think you're a pain in my ass," you correct, but it lacks heat. Maybe because you're tired. Maybe because he just played something beautiful and shared his cat and you don't know what to do with any of it.

"Only sometimes." He stretches again, shirt riding up. You definitely don't look. "Other times I'm a pain somewhere else—"

You throw the nearest object (a pencil) at his head. "And we're back to normal."

His laugh follows you as you leave, hunting for Griffin. You tell yourself the warm feeling in your chest is just satisfaction at finding new ammunition for future arguments.

He's actually good at something. Who knew?

And if you catch yourself humming "Slow Dancing" as you search for the cat... well.

Nobody has to know.

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